I needed a mattress when I moved into my new apartment in Bhuj. The cheapest, most exciting option was to get one made-to-order, which meant I got to pick out the cover fabric and opt to have it stuffed with natural cotton instead of the synthetic stuff.
They hadn’t finished making it by the time I was originally told me to pick it up. I was a bit under the weather, was tired from a day of running around the city trying to outfit my new, empty flat, and all I wanted to do was go to bed. But when I started watching my future matress’ makers wielding giant needles and deftly stitching on the roadside, I quickly switched from cranky to curious. They thought it was odd that I wanted to help but I convinced them, was handed a needle, and was shown what to do. Both parties were equally amused.
We finished up, piled the mattress atop a rickshaw, and I went home to sleep on my new bed of permanent roses.
This wasn’t my first time making a “mattress” but my first attempt was decidedly amateur and in the name of sculpture, not function.
