Language of Hands
Posted on August 8th, 2019 04:33 PM
I often wonder looking at a person talking, my eyes follow the movements of their hands and so many untold stories spill out.
The shy hand tucking her hair back into place when talking of a lover, the nervous hands with fingers entwined giving away confessions, the animated hands jumping with excitement perhaps telling of an adventurous trip. I look at strangers and concoct stories. Trying to understand the language of hands.
Haven't you ever looked at your hands and wondered how the nerves form patterns, patterns that is YOU. Some fingertips swollen or flat, a callous here or there like a storyteller telling tales of years of writing, typing, making, painting, scrubbing, molding, ..creating.. Creating.
Oh! The omniscience of it!
I put the thought chain aside as I sit down to finish the last of designs and send them to Ehsaan and Farzaan. The two brothers who have joined hands to convert our designs into wearable art. This time it being rakhis that will adorn the hands of brothers unknown to us.
I guess HANDS now are the protagonist of this story.
Bony hands of Ehsaan hammer silver sheets, his hands methodically mold, lacquer, cut, notch. While Farzaan with his long fingers showing off infused artistry sets semi-precious stones into the almost ready to dance rakhi centers.
"Jaldi Kar Farzaan, varna Satish nikal jayega" !!
The younger brother follows advice and runs for his bike with the packet of happy trinkets.
Satish is found at the Saharanpur bus stand looking around, eyes urgent, hands restless. With a sprint Farzaan hands him the bundle. There's a sigh of relief on both faces as they shake hands and part.
Two dainty hands are tapping the desk, knotting, unknotting, picking the phone, keeping it back, Ayesha is cursing Satish,
"Abhi tak nahi aaya!"
It's almost 11 and usually he reaches the Delhi office by 10 am. Her hands are about to dial his number for the umpteenth time as the doorbell rings and they instead open the door.
Her hands relax maybe even do a happy dance of their own or chuckle? Who knows! And takes the parcel from Satish's hands before he even enters the door.
With curious hands, she opens the parcel and smiles at the pretty jewels peeking at her with their colorful stones. Her calm hands now carefully collects them and places on the desk. Checking each handcrafted piece for any flaws or stories perhaps?
The cautiously checked silver pieces that will make eye-catching rakhis are now handed over to a bunch of ladies.
Excitedly so, the pieces get immersed in a sea of hands. Small hands bearing signs of years of house chores, expertly threading the rakhis, henna-colored delicate hands picking mostly red color to weave the thread while giving away the blush of a bride, darkened hands telling of years under the sun, calloused hands amusingly flipping the silver baubles and tying the ends of the threads. Carefree she must be,with silent hands quietly taking one piece at a time and stacking it one piece at a time- organised with perseverance perhaps...and so goes on the thread making with banters over cups of tea and gossips. Some of them trying the jewels as a hairpin,or neck piece to break the monotony.
"Achha lag raha hai tumpe"
Complementing each other on how beautiful the jewels looks on them, they continue to weave the festive colors into braided cords and pack them in silken pouches.
The brightly threaded promise bands are now ready, jumping up and down in a multitude of hands.
Chhotu looks at the vivid packages smiling to himself, for he too will be tied one of these on rakshabandhan. He can't wait for it, he mulls over what will he gift his sister as he packs tiny pouches of chhuara, roli, chaval, along with one shimmery Rakhi at a time in the boxes and counter checks them for quality. Meanwhile, there are hands that write love notes. Putting the pen down and smiling at the little revelation of the story.
Amidst the chaos of everyday deliveries, the hands at the Delhi workshop take a sign of relief.
Its 6 pm and Suresh is here to pick the daily orders. Stacking up in his old white van to take it to the courier office, where they go through a number of hands.
Some mindless, thinking of the stories that wait for them at home.
Some curious, thinking what it contains inside.
Some over-enthusiasts shaking the parcel and guessing their bests.
The couriers walk, fly, bike, ride in trains and reach different doorsteps ringing bells answered by eager sisters. Knowing they will receive the much waited tokens of love today.
Vibrantly bangled, professionally sleeved, young, old, fair, dark and all other kinds of gleeful hands open the parcels. Tentatively take the baubles out and look at them with a zillion emotions of a sister for a brother.
Two hands pick the promise band with love and tie it on a hand, fisted, ready, eager, grinning.
Hands that are happy now belong to a sister and a brother.
Have you ever thought about the language of the hands, dance of the hands, their journeys?