To my sister, who will soon be receiving a parcel…

Dearest Mary,

This is not a begging letter, well, it is but I hope you will not be put off, which is why I wasn’t going to mention it. However, I have been told what a lovely, empathic person you are so I have every faith that you are the one to whom I should turn.

In truth, I began my life, many years ago (not sure how many because I can’t count beyond eight), full of Eastern promise and with every expectation that my function in life would be fulfilled; forgive my vanity, but I had hoped to attend parties and gatherings, and be admired by many. Alas, it was not to be so. Instead I was sold (for a good price no doubt) to an English tourist – I was a love gift to his young wife. “How romantic!” you may think… Sadly she was devoid of any romantic fibre (unlike me) and she wrapped me “in cotton wool” (if only – my fancy- it was really a brown paper bag) and hid me away in a dark place where my only friends, also my mentors and educators, were eight pages of “The Bombay Times” and five loose sheets from “My Heart Sings Out” (one of the hymnals from the Episcopal Church of the United States of America).

Captive that I was, I have, nevertheless, travelled… albeit in a tea-chest in the hold of a ship bound for Australia. Even then, now so long ago I can barely remember (Hallelujah – if only I could forget completely), I had some little optimism that my exclusion from society may have been a long but still temporary oversight. It was not the case. I have endured year after year of confinement with not a puff of fresh air or even a drop of fresh water and yet I have been tempted cruelly by the likes of Fry’s Turkish Delight, Leonard Singh and Sons’ “Exotic Moonlight Tours down the Ganges”, and “The Coming of the Lord”.

Also I have suffered the indignity of colour discrimination and, latterly, having believed myself to be rescued, I have had the added humiliation of being told that I stank. Heavens to Betsy! Hence I was left out airing for a day on a washing line and was caught in a strong wind that sent me twirling around the central pole; my nerves – and the bottom of me – frayed and my blue silk got caught in the grass, then later got entangled in Sally’s big feet (size 10, Australian) and now there are threads of blue scattered about the garden). Finally, having sniffed me suspiciously, Sally submerged me in soapy water – a particular aversion for me after being on a “dry” ship for so long and being accustomed to the familiar smell of an ancient section of “The Bombay Times” mixed with the aroma of old sandals (I was demoted to the lower half of a closet – the floor – after the death of the English tourist.)

So… dearest Mary, I will be arriving, perhaps a little the worse for wear, on your doorstep soon. I am clean, a bit frayed (naturally, after all I’ve been through), maybe not as bright as I was (but I still have all my marbles and some of my glitter) and pressed (not depressed – hallelujah!) on silk setting (so not very well). I hope and pray that you, or someone as beautiful as you, will appreciate me at last and enjoy wearing me to the wedding of James and Jaimy. May you be Blessed with moonlight on your horizons and your senses filled with Eastern promise…

Thanking you in advance,

Sari x