The Sunlight Chronicles
A Family’s Fabric of Life
Whenever I spot clothes in a basin by the well, I know my mother is at work. She draws water from the well, immerses the clothes, and lets them soak. She scrubs each piece with a Sunlight soap bar, placing them on the concrete slab beside the well. The yellow soap works hard in her diligent hands.
She thumps the clothes against the slab, each in turn, with just enough force to let the soap seep through the fabric. My shirts, vests, shorts, my sister’s school uniforms with pleats, my brother’s baby clothes, her blouses, undergarments, and my father’s shirts and vests — all are meticulously cleaned by her skilled hands.
On other days, she repeats the process with pillows, bedsheets, and towels. It’s strenuous work that unites our family. I’m tasked with buying the soap. As our family expanded, we switched from Sunlight to the bulkier Sovereign bar.
I would run errands for my mother, fetching soap, fish, vegetables, and oil. Being economical and money-smart, she would have me buy a whole foot-long bar of Sovereign soap while other shoppers only bought portions.
Returning to the washing routine, she drew more water to rinse the soap and dirt from each item in the basin. She wrung out the water with her strong arms and set it aside. Once all the items were rinsed, we hung the damp, clean clothes on the clothesline together, although it was too high for me to reach alone.
Hours later, the sun would have dried the clothes, ready to be brought inside. I’d assist, easily removing the clothes since they hung low. Some days, we’d do it together; other days, when she was busy in the kitchen, I’d take on the task alone.
It was also my job to help fold them. I enjoyed folding the large bedsheets and towels.
However, there was one exception, a task I was barred from assisting with. My mother wouldn’t let me help wash her sarees. Those were sacred to her. She trusted me with money, collecting house rents and shopping, but not with her beloved sarees. She tended to her silk sarees herself, her treasures. She washed and draped them carefully to dry on her own. But she needed my help to fold them since they were six yards long. Under her careful direction, I would grasp one end and approach her, gradually reducing the saree’s span until it was neatly folded and ready for storage in her wardrobe.
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