Dr Shamila Ramsookbhai with her gudhree.
SOME conversations disappear the moment you leave the room. Others stay with you. Mine began in a hair salon over hair colour and shampoo.
Hairdryers hummed and scissors clicked. It was the familiar soundtrack of transforming one’s appearance. Amidst this, I found myself chatting to a stranger. We exchanged polite smiles. Small talk followed. Before long, we were talking about pottery.
Something changed. Her face softened. Her voice slowed. She was no longer in the salon. One could hear the yearning in her voice as she spoke about her grandmother, who taught her how to do pottery. And my interest piqued, as I have been playing with clay for the past 23 years.
The stranger also mentioned that her grandmother did quilting and macrame. As we chatted, I realised that she wasn't really talking about crafts. She was talking about her grandmother. And perhaps about a world that no longer exists.
