the other blue banarasi

 

in the middle of may or was it june last year, when a good friend and his wife invited us to their daughter’s wedding in kerala in december, and i said, yes, would love to come, i was fully prepared for an enchanting time in the deep green southern state which has an even deeper affair with red. today, the only state in the country with a communist government.

i would be passing through bengaluru. when i lived there, it was bangalore, and i have no idea why we keep changing names, but well, bengaluru it is. everyone grumbles that the city, where i spent some of my happiest times, is gone: traffic, population, heat, dust, doom and politicians.

i disagree, and as some of my closest friends live there, i planned a stopover on the way to as well as on the way back from kumarakom, where the wedding was to be held in a resort by the backwaters. i do not wish to digress, but watching the colours of an indian wedding unfold against the blues and endless of the backwaters, framed by the aforementioned green, is a religious experience. especially if elevated by genuine welcome and the easy banter of friends who went to school together; the father of the bride was a class mate of mine.

the bride was radiant, she is malayalee and of syrian christian heritage, the groom had a gentle smile, he’s maharashtrian, hindu. the wedding was joyful and fun, parents and families on both sides enthusiastically taking part in customs and traditions, even those that were new to them. i was not embarrassed at all that i’d packed four dressy sarees and a new mekhela sador for the five occasions across two days.

as i mentioned, i was quite sure the trip would be happy and memorable, but i was not prepared for the sarees. i don’t mean the ones i’d taken along.

you never really know what the future holds in store for you, do you. i’m not trying to be randomly and mundanely philosophical here, just going over the circumstances that led to those sarees.

of course, on a visit to bengaluru, i’d rush over to ambara – a nice boutique – right next door to my friend’s place; and there’s always chickpet a short drive away, we spent an illuminating and expensive evening there on my last visit… if you love or even like sarees, don’t give rukmini hall a miss. we casually considered going to kancheepuram this time to gaze at the silks on the loom, but desisted.   

i kept thinking: maybe i’ll get one kanjeevaram, or an ilkal… but nothing else. the best laid plans of mice and weak women…

the friend i stayed with on the way to kerala, said she had to take me to taneira, the new saree place opened by titan. the famous tata group, known for steel, cars, technology, finance, hotels, watches… is into sarees now. the mighty shall capitulate before these six yards, it is written.

my friend had some taneira discount coupons… lovely shop, i thought, as i walked in. there were sarees on shelves, on hangers, spread out on tables, sarees everywhere in a series of rooms connected by meandering corridors and staircases. they floated, they sat, they beckoned, they wrapped you in a world of their own… you got lost, there was no need to be found.

 

i tried to resist. i was valiant. then i spotted a light blue banarasi. i almost stopped breathing when the folds were opened and it was laid out on the table.

i said, no. i was not going to spend madly on the very first day. i could do it. my friend reminded me of the discount. i walked away and fell upon a cotton kota with its eight trademark squares to assuage the pain. it had pretty sanganeri block prints, a saree from rajasthan that was a repository of memories… my aunts, mother, great aunt, they’d wear these airy, light kotas, especially during summer.

my friend watched me as i hurried over to see what lay in the next room. each alcove, space, corner had a different kind of saree on display, from different parts of the country.

the dark pink and purple maheshwari from madhya pradesh caught me unawares.

maharani ahaliyabai holkar… rehwa… gossamer silk… revival by sally holkar… the thoughts wafted and swirled, gold tinted and free.

i have never bought a maheshwari for myself i thought…

my friend giggled and thrust a pale mehendi green chanderi into my hands. i must buy this for you, she said. why, i muttered flummoxed, staring at the see through fine fabric.

she laughed and replied, i’ve never seen anyone so happy in a saree store, it’s like watching a kid in a toy shop… besides, i have the discount.

i went off to kerala with three new sarees in the suitcase.

on the way back, we stopped by at kasavu kada in cochin, well known for their kerala cotton sarees. i bought a white cotton, not the real zari kasavu, just a simple inexpensive one with a thin border in gold and a snazzy purple. it cost around rs 450. why so cheap, i asked. the cotton count is only 80, said the man. it was handloom, it was 100% cotton, people were willing to talk about the count of warp and weft, not give vague answers, felt good.

back in bengaluru, at my second host’s home, a kesa paat from assam awaited. i’d bought it from kohua d’handloom café, a new shop in guwahati; they’d sent it over. the owner is a friend’s cousin, he and i have fascinating chats on whatsapp often about the weavers and textiles of assam. kesa paat or raw silk is diaphanous and a bit stiff, the drape gets better after you wear it a few times, he had said. i’d fallen for the motifs, assamese bootis are unique, mine had tiny goss phool or the tree motif – phool is literally flower, means motif or booti – and large bold triangular patterns on the pallu, in a no nonsense brown and gold. it was even prettier than i’d thought.

i would have left india with these five new sarees, but then the banarasi started spooking me. i had to return to taneira with the second friend. what would i do without my ever patient and indulgent friends. she and i pondered the light blue banarasi. something wasn’t right. the shot effect… the density of bootis… or was it their size? as i wandered, if not lonely as a cloud, quite sad at the thought of letting go, i saw the other blue banarasi.

the folds opened, the classic zari work shone, the stately border, the zari encrusted pallu, the lavish kolkas sitting nawabishly at either end of it, the crafting was sure, you could sense this craft wasn’t perfected in a day, the blue reminded me of aunties at north indian weddings. i, like shetty of good old hindi films, was sold.

i came back from south india with six sarees. a saree from the south, a kerala cotton, not kanjeevaram this time. a saree from the east, the kesa paat from assam. a saree from the west, the kota from rajashthan. a saree from the north, the blue banarasi. and two sarees from the centre of the country, madhya pradesh: the maheshwari and the chanderi.

when i realised this, i knew i had to write. this was not planned. the best moments in life i guess rarely are.

errant thought: perhaps there’ll be an invite soon, and that over dressed aunty at an indian wedding.

 

  

wrote this on january 3, 2019 and posted on our magazine writersbrew.com

 

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sarees tell stories | mehendi green chanderi, deep pink maheshwari, sanganeri print kota, blue banarasi from taneira, bengaluru; kerala cotton with purple border from kasavu kada, cochin; off white kesa paat from kohua d’handloom cafe, guwahati; all sarees bought in december 2018.

 

 

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banarasis are good for you : the friday saree

 

years ago, i fell for the guinness tagline that went, guinness is good for you. i suspect i drink guinness more on account of that line than the taste of the heavy dark stout itself.

guinness is good for you was written in the 1920s when Guinness started advertising for the first time. i'd heard once, in the '70s or '80s an enormous amount of money, effort, and time were spent to change that line, come up with something new. . creatives thought and thought, then went away to far off isles to think some more, free float, brainstorm, crack the big idea. and after all that, they came back with... well, guinness is good for you. and so, the line remained.

i can't substantiate that story, but i just found out that james joyce had suggested changing the line with a slogan of his own, "guinness – the free, the flow, the frothy freshener." but thankfully, that was not accepted. it remained, guinness is good for you.

the best ideas are like that. simple, almost minus any adornment,  undeniable.

which reminds me of a conversation i had the other day about these beautiul sarees called banarasis; benaroshi, if you're bengali.

banarasis are handloom sarees from the ancient city of varanasi or benares, with their trademark and fabulous zaree work. they are usually in silk, but you do have fine cotton banarasis too.

beautiful as they are, they have posed a persisting problem for their owners and wearers.

which is, where do you wear a banarasi?

the sarees are inextricably linked to weddings and celebrations. the ;et's overdress moments in our world. the endless occasions that weddings present, special anniversaries, ceremonies for mothers to be, your offspring's rice ceremony or whatever is the special ritual for children in a community. banarasis also find a place in religious festivals like diwali, durga pujo, eid. but mainly, it's weddings.

if you want to wear a banarasi, there has to be an occasion. you just can't wear a banarasi otherwise, seems to be the inherited wisdom of saree wearers everywhere.

you dress up in your lovely blue banarasi with big angoor or grape motifs to a cousin's mehendi. your own wedding banarasi you have worn only once after your marriage, to your brother's wedding. at your friend's sangeet, your sweet but careless aunty dropped food on your pale pink banarasi with silver zaree that your mother had worn for her gode bharai ceremony before you were born.

"i have so many beautiful banarasis, but no occasion to wear them," how many times have i heard that? or, "i know the mauve tissue banarasi is gorgeous, but no, i'll buy this kanjeevaram without zaree, more wearable." or even, "oh, banarasis are too much, too jhatak matak, who wears zaree these days," i feel a bit shaken by that.

when i started buying sarees again, banarasis began to demand and get my attention pretty quickly. my mother was born in benaras or kashi, was that some sort of subliminal tug? i've actually always been dazzled by banarasis. my mother had many of them, from her wedding brocade to these really cool ones in solid glimmering shades – emerald, crimson, ivory – with narrow finely worked borders in contrasting shades. i've worn most of them, always for an occasion of course.

but how do you get the banarasi out of the occasion into the everyday world?

 

that was the question a girl who loved sarees, – whom i'd just met – and i were pondering a couple of sundays ago. she said, she felt one should simply stop needing a big occasion to wear them.

instead, just wear them whenever one felt like it. as you would wear all other nice sarees.

to visit people, for small dinners, when you had people over. treat the banarasi like any other beautiful saree. and wear it. not keep your banarasis in muslin and mothballs forever, waiting longingly for that one mega wedding or whatever, when you can at last let them come out and breathe.

i laughed.

and i heard something in me say, why not?

we'd invited them for shabbat dinner next week. she said, she'd wear one of her banarasis. and she instructed me, practically, to wear the red brocade banarasi i'd mentioned, a replica of my mother's wedding saree.

it felt like a pact. a solemn giving of word to each other which would lead to greater things some day. it definitely felt heady, like a large swig of dark smooth guinness.

after much thought, i chose a blue green shot jongla or jangla (from jungle) banarasi.

when she walked in, we both stopped in our tracks and started smiling, quite incredulous. her husband exclaimed, "you're wearing identical sarees!"

wasn't exactly the same, but hers had an all over jaal or pattern too, with similar motifs, and the colours were close. it was a classic banarasi from her wedding trousseau. mine had been acquired more recently, for our anniversary a couple of years ago.

she had also worn her saree differently, twisting and pleating the yards of silk deftly, as as she pleased. the sheen of a tightly drawn black belt over the pallu and around the waist firmly brought the traditional jangla to the here and this moment.

 

we spent a happy friday evening together, not being self conscious at all about all the gold and silk. it felt just right. even the men, dressed casually, seemed to like that little high in the air. a refreshing note to a quiet dinner.

i wished i were tall and slender so i could throw my saree about in that carefree swirl. we posed and took shots. banarasis stepped out of weddings and breathed more freely.

a big idea i felt, had been cracked. just wear your banarasi.

i've never read joyce, but a moment ago considered swiping his "the free, the flow, the frothy freshener" tagline.

but no.

i'll go with...

banarasis are good for you.

bought the jangla from tilfi in december, 2020. it was an anniversary gift from my husband. this picture was taken on our anniversary, the first time i wore the saree. thoroughly enjoyed donning a jangla, lifted the covid gloom. we went to a bar afterwards. no big celebration naturally, this is the wild spread of coronavirus time. the photograph is taken by ferolyn, she's our cook and my main consultant on sarees. she's caught the blue green colour play in this one, so am posting here.

 

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photos credit ferolyn fernandez