sarees tell stories...
the words buzzed into my thoughts one day, and i had to pause and mull over them. do they? i mean, do sarees really tell us things? do they speak to us? narrate stories? do sarees record memories and more? remember the picture of you in a saree when you were about five or six, and your brother sitting next to you looking disgruntled, as you preened? he must have suffered...
who said that?
i was startled.
what about ma's wedding banarasi... didn't you want to wear it for your wedding? a red banarasi swirled by, gold dazzling. and why do widows have to wear white sarees? a bale of plain thaan floated quietly into the mind. how many generations can wear one saree then, say... said the cement green crepe, its parsi style embroidered border bright and clear.
remember your neatly pleated saree in the crush of that l9 bus you took to office, the cotton print whimpered.
i felt myself beginning to get lost in the stories. a desire to write arose. i started typing before anything stopped me.
checks and balances from chettinad
of real and fake chanderi sarees
apple jam and lime green or a saree (or two) in the time of social distancing
an evening of light and turmeric stains
maharanis, construction workers, ics officers – a saree wearer's longish ramble
if it's gleaming like that, it must be a gadwal
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