..and I am a Catalan gypsy. You know we originated from India and are sometimes called Romani? Many in my family have moved to settle in Catalonia, near Barcelona, and I will too soon, but not yet..
I have been told often that I am pretty, especially when I am donning the violet mantilla veil over my Peinitas. I made the Peinitas or the Spanish high comb myself. Usually we wear our veil over the comb but not me. I need to show off my craft. And who knows, maybe my style will start a trend.
Apart from being a talented tailor, I am also a wonderful dancer, although dancing is not my true profession. This is my flamenco dress which I had fashioned from our famous Catalonian laces. You know us Spanish just love laces. We use them more than the French do and we use them for everything, down to our unmentionables. But mostly, we use them to make our mantilla and the ruffles in our skirts. O yes, never forget the red rose for the dress and of course, our coin purse, which we must keep as close to our body as possible. Although most of us wear black, not me. The people in Delhi do not like black. They love colours and I want them to love me.
A while back, I sent Sans! some things from Spain, many of them I made. I don't know what made her think it was a lottery win when really, I had just wanted her to safe-keep them for me. It was awkward trying to take my wares back and I had to eventually send a toy elephant to trick her. You must understand I had no other choice, these wares form my livelihood. They are my means to settle in Spain, my ticket to reunite with my family. I have to do what I had to do.
In order to cater to the people in India, I had to adapt some of my stuff to local taste. I started with these boxes. They are good sturdy ones made of thin wood ply but I had to cover them with oriental paper in colours that the locals love.
I then fill up the boxes with laces, ribbons and embroideries. And for the last box, I put in all the sea shells I had collected when I was roaming the beaches of Barcelona.
So pretty these shells are, such perfect creations of Mother Nature, each and every piece a special reminder of a time and a place when I was totally happy. I hope someone will find a good home for them, perhaps to beautify a box or made into a charm or ear piece, even a comb.
In order to cater to the people in India, I had to adapt some of my stuff to local taste. I started with these boxes. They are good sturdy ones made of thin wood ply but I had to cover them with oriental paper in colours that the locals love.
I then fill up the boxes with laces, ribbons and embroideries. And for the last box, I put in all the sea shells I had collected when I was roaming the beaches of Barcelona.
So pretty these shells are, such perfect creations of Mother Nature, each and every piece a special reminder of a time and a place when I was totally happy. I hope someone will find a good home for them, perhaps to beautify a box or made into a charm or ear piece, even a comb.
Now you know why I needed toy elephant to run. I really must thank Sans! properly and I know exactly how.
I haven't forgotten that Sans! love my sweets. And so I made some traditional Turron, with a bit of a citrus twist, my own recipe. I know she will love it. I will give her a slice and then try to sell the rest.
And in case my patrons will like some beverages also, I have brought along a much loved pot and my canister of wonders, filled with the ingredients for a special brew found in an ancient book called Curioso tratado de la naturaleza y calidad del chocolate, written by an Adalusian physician.
All these I shall carry on my head. Oh, don't be so alarmed, this is but a small feat. I hear in Kathmandu, men carry a load as heavy as a 10-stone object called "fridge" on their head in similar fashion when they move from the valley to the mountains.
As for the rest of the wares, it is not easy, but I manage to fit all of them into 3 baskets. The big one holds my silver door hangings (mainly of the Gods) laces, some Egyptian cotton , a carved toy in the shape of a boat.
Another basket holds my precious tree-of-life ceramic and the last, hang a silver tray and a jug as well as some dried herbs.
I haven't forgotten that Sans! love my sweets. And so I made some traditional Turron, with a bit of a citrus twist, my own recipe. I know she will love it. I will give her a slice and then try to sell the rest.
And in case my patrons will like some beverages also, I have brought along a much loved pot and my canister of wonders, filled with the ingredients for a special brew found in an ancient book called Curioso tratado de la naturaleza y calidad del chocolate, written by an Adalusian physician.
All these I shall carry on my head. Oh, don't be so alarmed, this is but a small feat. I hear in Kathmandu, men carry a load as heavy as a 10-stone object called "fridge" on their head in similar fashion when they move from the valley to the mountains.
As for the rest of the wares, it is not easy, but I manage to fit all of them into 3 baskets. The big one holds my silver door hangings (mainly of the Gods) laces, some Egyptian cotton , a carved toy in the shape of a boat.
Another basket holds my precious tree-of-life ceramic and the last, hang a silver tray and a jug as well as some dried herbs.
And so here we are: my wares, my wagon and my self.
A basket on my head, two hanging from my neck and the last in my left hand while my right palm clasped a precious brolly tightly;
I am a clothier, a silversmith, a restaurant all rolled into one.
And me and my wagon, we travel the world.
And every so often, we find a shady spot and stop.
And to paraphrase Orhan Pamuk in "My Name is Red"
My Name is Eva.
When I load my wares-
items cheap and precious alike,
certain to lure the ladies, rings, earrings , necklaces and baubles-
into the folds of silk handkerchiefs, gloves, sheets and the colourful shirt cloth sent over in Spanish ships,
when I shoulder that bundle, Eva's a ladle and Chandni Chowk's a kettle,
and there's nary a street I don't visit
Or a word of gossip or a letter which I haven't carried
from one door to the next..
A basket on my head, two hanging from my neck and the last in my left hand while my right palm clasped a precious brolly tightly;
I am a clothier, a silversmith, a restaurant all rolled into one.
And me and my wagon, we travel the world.
And every so often, we find a shady spot and stop.
And to paraphrase Orhan Pamuk in "My Name is Red"
My Name is Eva.
When I load my wares-
items cheap and precious alike,
certain to lure the ladies, rings, earrings , necklaces and baubles-
into the folds of silk handkerchiefs, gloves, sheets and the colourful shirt cloth sent over in Spanish ships,
when I shoulder that bundle, Eva's a ladle and Chandni Chowk's a kettle,
and there's nary a street I don't visit
Or a word of gossip or a letter which I haven't carried
from one door to the next..
Afterword
I made this doll over 3 days. I knew, from the moment I opened Eva's parcel, that I wanted to make a peddlar doll to hold all her gifts. You can see what she had made in the picture above or in my previous post on Day 95. I spent more than 3 months wondering how to fit everything onto a doll. Eventually, without a clue how, I just decided to start . I took out one of dolls and painted the dress and then rather miraculously, everything else fell into place, the elephant, the boxes and the baskets, all in 3 days. Sometimes, all we need is to just do it and stop thinking so much. The important thing is to believe that with beautiful things (like the gifts from Eva), you can make beautiful things.