``Sagar, I think you should join a course in stitching.'' I am awakened from my reverie when I here this. It is a perfectly fantastic Sunday morning and I am enjoying my coffee with chocolate Bourbons. As I dip my first Bourbon in the cup, the words strike me again. ``Sagar, I think you should join a course in stitching.'' Oh no, I say. Enjoying my standard XII holidays, there is a no reason to spend (or waste) time in stitching. Mom has a friend who takes classes in the vacations. What is the need, I try to argue - besides, who has a son who can wash, cook, clean, bake and all such stuff? But stitching? No way! ``Sagar, I think you should join a course in stitching.'' It is now an order.I shudder at the thought of spending my sweet mornings in the basement of a sixty plus lady and a bunch of giggly girls aged eight to twelve. ``The course is only for girls, but I can manage your son, dear! You can leave him now,'' so says Auntie. I began my first lessons to the amazement of all the girls who know a lot more than I. I first learn to thread a needle, taking ten minutes to succeed. I now understand that a needle has an eye at only one end-and it was the other one that I was trying. The following morn, I try to take up the subject of refusal, but to no avail. While the talks were on, I tried to take out the wet biscuit, but the tremors were so great that it curled and fell back into the cup. With this, my resistance too fell back. It is now that I think of the humble bourbon as a mirror of my mind.As days pass, Auntie tried to teach me more and more difficult tricks and stitches, which I obediently get done from Mom. Auntie thinks it is amazing that I completed my homework, but I shake my head in class. I tell her that my concentration is less in mornings. She admits that.The outlook of the girls is still rather pathetic. One of them looked at the bruises and pricks on my fingers and asked me if the work kept me awake at nights. I looked directly into the pretty eyes and said, ``There are reasons other than this, surely.'' And I waved the piece of cloth. She said, ``Oh, then you must be worrying about the figure of eight stitch''. and off she ran.Still I continued to fret and fume. Once I was bobbing a Monaco pair in the cup while talks were going on. The bigger of the pair was demonstrating the snapping act of Titanic. I fished him out and while arguing, snapped at it. I had snapped at empty air just as he had curled back into the saucer. Think of the elephant being fooled by the rat.At last the class is over and now I can continue my daily meetings with the biscuits. They now look happy, like goldfish swimming in a pool. I now positively think of the Bourbons as mirrors of my soul. Nevertheless, I eat them up.
