Mary can still remember the day her mom brought her to the factory. She was only 14 - her first introduction into the rag trade and an income of 25 yuan a day. Among hundreds of other workers in Guangzhou she felt small and isolated. Madam Wong spoke no English as she ordered Mao-like instructions accompanied by hysterical hand gestures for everyone to get to their seats while all around her encased in a big aluminium shell were masses of textiles and people intertwined. Then the rumbling began and there she stood finally understanding what was to become of her life in the blistering new economy. She aspired more for herself than this mere existence and allowed her desire to wander while tears rolled out of her eyes onto her hand laden with cotton.
It was a good but wet day in Mumbai. Santhi's hands were aching but she was happy. It was pay day and she was not going to waste it by going to her favourite bollywood movie theatre. She knew of her uncertain reality that India offered but she was not going to let the memories of her destitute upbringing stop her. She hated plastic and she hated the colour blue. She was a career woman now, having accomplished a degree in education while working at a clothes factory nearby her campus. The little time she could spare was spent on completing assignments while the rest nestled within the bosom of an old colonial building off Malabar Hills where royalty dwell. Everyday she would look out of her tiny window at those apartments while her Singer ravaged the disjointed seams finally taking whole.
White over white. All she could think about was the fear of being late for work. Her steps were measured and certain. Tatiana had 2 mouths to feed and a husband with an inclination for vodka that was pretty normal among Russian unemployed men. She was destined to partake the life that her mom had once lived and endured but no matter how hard she tried she could not fathom a life without this supposed normalcy. She loved her life, her kids for that matter and her pride carried her for many years but it was slowly getting tired; she wanted out but all she could see was the crystals on the ledge outside and the massive pile of winter threads by her feet. Threads she knew will keep others warm throughout the winter months for rubles that would hardly feed hers. Thumbed into reality, she clocked in and within minutes was busy accelerating the needles of her inter-locker without even understanding why and what the irony all meant.
The town could not survive without it but Joanne was certain that having this baby would be a good distraction not so long ago. She was afterall a pioneer; the first 10 hires in a business that stood for 20 years. Her loyalty should mean something. She had already picked names - it would be Ryan if it was a boy and Brooke if it was a girl when the announcement came. The business could no longer compete and production was being outsourced somewhere cheaper. Around her were bolders of cotton once turned into jeans, jackets and jumpers to warm American families. The rumbling had now ceased, the pause certain and the cotton no longer willing to be transformed. With a flick of the light switched, silence fell and she knew life will never be the same for her and her baby. Existence is the only thing that is certain.
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