When I was seven, my mum's needle-work box held great fascination for me. Since it contained many sharp objects, mum lived in mortal terror of me playing with it and stabbing myself all over. So she always tried to keep it out of my reach. But having been born with an insatiable curiosity about everything that was inaccessible to me and being twice blessed with an amazing agility that used to come in handy for dragging and climbing about things, I more often than not managed to lay my small hands on that enchanting box of wood. Many a sleepy afternoon found mum having her siesta and me spending several...
Read the full article in the July 2008 issue of The Gift Of Stitching
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