THE NINE YARD WONDER: #100SAREEPACT

(Why I needed to be motivated to wear a saree)

Dancing to the tune of Megher koley rod heshchhe (Tagore’s song on autumn) in Class KG and that too in front of an audience in school is one of the earliest childhood memories that still sparks vivid. But what was more was the memory of wearing my mom’s red sari that she had meticulously pinned so as to retain its form and shape till the programme ended. And not even for a minute I felt uncomfortable in the first sari of my life. Then what went wrong, that almost for decades I never ever wanted to touch a sari, buy one or even wore one to wedding ceremonies?

Remember the Saraswati Puja at the tutorial during my teens. I stood apart in a skirt. Was it because I felt I would stand out from the rest with all the boys staring at my long legs that would otherwise have been draped in some red and yellow sari? Don’t know why I deviated from the usual tradition of wearing a sari on Saraswati Puja! But surely I remember how all the boys of the tutorial including the one who would be my future husband, had almost made a beeline for me leaving aside many of those who were looking really pretty and somewhat clumsy in saris. The pride of a teenage girl being followed by all the boys as we sang one song after another at the Antakshari meet. Was that enough to make me wear western outfits all my life?

Till 40, I hardly remember owning a sari, though I had bought many for my mother who has always refused to wear anything but a sari and undoubtedly I have always looked up to her in her elegant and graceful sari clad look. She has trekked mountains, gone on hikes, travelled the length and breadth of the country, run a school of toddlers, all done efficiently in a sari. For me it’s a Herculean task. When I gifted her salwar suit pieces or even wrap around skirts, she made it very clear she felt uncomfortable in them. I always felt shocked at her dismissals!

Yet, absolutely nothing, even my mother’s sari clad graceful image, could ever inspire me to wear a sari. Compliments from friends that I have a great height and would carry a sari the best, or even male friends gifting me saris as they travelled across various states or countries like Bangladesh, could not inspire me to wear one. I always did find an excuse for not wearing one. The obsession for not wearing it had become such a compulsion that I even refused to wear one on my wedding day. And bundled off my registry marriage in a salwar suit. Only had to wear a sari for the reception and felt immensely uncomfortable and irritated.

But after years of neglecting the most elegant and sexy attire of the world, I have become completely hooked to it off late. And indeed I now realise why two working women of India had to start a #100sareepact that almost turned into a movement. When nothing, absolutely no compliments or inspirations or gifts or even rebuke could make me wear those yards of fabric, this movement has indeed taken me off guard and I have somehow got into the pact of wearing atleast two saris a week, even at times hiring them from friends, buying my own or lifting them from my mom’s wardrobe. 

But for all these years why didn’t I wear one? And why many working women like me do not wear saris? Is it because sari in India relates to some traditional patriarchy? We relate married women to saris and ghunghats for years, and wrapping oneself in saris so that the male members of the sasurbari will not be able to see any part of the body. I however, never believed in this psyche. For me sari was always the sexiest attire. It can be worn in the most sensuous way possible revealing and well not revealing any and every part one wishes to. Then may be as my husband had put in once I never wished to look sensuous?

Many friends said since wearing sari is often a compulsion, not wearing one is seen as an indication of a woman being allowed to make personal choices. This also applies to symbols of marriage, like sindoor and mangalsutra. One friend in particular said she wore jeans when her in laws were away and switched to sari when they were around, just to show them respect! And undoubtedly I still hear many often criticize me as the ‘liberated, modern, westernised’ woman for wearing western wear even to ceremonies. 

But for me it was always a question of comfort and economy. I found skirts and tops, jeans and tops anytime more economical than buying a sari and all the accessories they need. Not to say the dearth of good tailors to make blouses, and the laziness of a working mother who had no time to hunt for matching blouses or run across potholed streets while on work in a sari.

Yet, I must say today I realise I have no excuse whatsoever to make a sari work on me. And needless to say I have truly discovered how a sari makes me the woman that I am.