A sari is an untailored rectangular piece of cloth, 6 yards long. Once draped around a female figure, it is one of the most elegant and versatile outfits for all shapes, sizes and occasions.
Saagar used to love it when I wore a sari. Si loves it too. They can probably see that it makes me feel beautiful not just on the outside but also deep inside. It makes me feel connected with who I really am.It is strange that a piece of clothing can do that. Here in India I see women of all social strata in saris and they all look grounded and solid in the most delicate and feminine way possible. When I lived here I often wore a sari but then I moved abroad and most of them went into a box, only to appear occasionally.
The other things that went into storage in that box with my saris were parts of my identity, my pride, my strength, my femininity and my connection with myself, only to appear in their entirety occasionally. I do wish I could adorn a sari everyday. Maybe I can. Maybe the only thing that stops me is myself.
[“This way of leaving your family for work had condemned many over several generations to have their hearts always in other places, their minds thinking about people elsewhere; they could never be in a single existence at one time.”
– The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desia. (Man Booker Prize 2006).]
On New Year’s Eve I wore an aquamarine Di Chine silk sari with a thin golden border. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d bothered to wear one. Had almost forgotten how wonderful it felt. I missed him so much. Missing someone isn’t about how long it’s been since you’ve seen them or talked to them. It’s about that very moment when you find yourself doing something and wishing they were right there by your side. Maybe he was there all along. Maybe I can’t see him but he can see me.