I'm knitting a shawl from some yarn I bought while I was in India. It is called 'sari silk' yarn. It is made from recycling the remnants of sari silk. This is one of the 'cottage industries' which are all over India and other underdeveloped countries. Usually women who have to support their families work at a craft house to supply trinkets, souvenirs and exports which represent their region or country.

There are many kinds of sari silk yarn, and it is, like many cottage industry products, all the rage in the West now. I bought two kinds, the fine spun and the rough spun. If I remember correctly the fine spun is done by machine and the rough spun by hand. The fine spun intertwines colors, the fibers are more uniform and the texture consistent. On the rough spun the colors don't gradually blend- they suddenly jump from chartreuse to orange to white, aqua, red, yellow (interlude forest green) ok orange again. The textures are many and there is really no uniformity in color, fiber, texture or tightness of the ravel.

So, with this second yarn I'm making a shawl. This shawl is in every way representative of India. The colors are blinding-combining in ways that are at the same time unsightly and amazing. It's awful but attractive. It looks old like it was made 100 years ago- at the same time impossibly- magically vibrant. It's made (and looks to be made) of rags, throw a ways, trash- but the feel of it, there is a satisfaction and luxury in the weight and texture of the silk.

These are the puzzles of India. The age, the beauty, the colors, the textures of life where rags and riches aren't separated- they live together-blending to make a whole which is blinding, unsightly, awful, amazing, vibrant, magic, amazing.

I think I need a samosa.