if it's gleaming like that, it must be a gadwal.

gadwal. when i was too young to know anything about sarees other than all women – yes, it was practically all the women i knew or saw around me – wore them, that word always intrigued me.

spending a lot of time in delhi while growing up, i was aware of garhwal, near the himalaya mountains in the north, a hilly place with lots of nice small towns and warmhearted people... many of whom came to delhi in search of work.

did my mother mean that place when she called her saree a gadwal? were these pretty sarees from there? so why did she pronounce the name in that funny way?

gadwal. with the soft flat d / द sound.

not garhwal. with the rolling d / ढ़ sound which you don't have in the english soundscape at all.

she had a really pretty one, sea green cotton body with a dark purple magenta border, its zaree catching light. i'd hear my aunts and mother's friends talk about someone or the other's beautiful gadwal. the combination was of particular interest, it had to be unusual even unorthodox but not amateurish. 

you had to get the colours right.

it was much later that i discovered that the source of these happy discussions was indeed a place called gadwal.

just shy of two hundred kilometres from hyderabad, is the town of gadwal. lying somewhere between two rivers i have only heard of and never seen, tungabhadra and krishna, gadwal is part of the jogulamba gadwal district in telengana now. 

oh, to be born by the tungabhadra... krishna flowing on the other side.

i mean, those river names sound so pretty, how can they possibly not have beauty scattered around them. i know i am getting carried away.

ok, back to the prosaic. a few hundred years ago, in the 1700s if my research is right, a kingdom called gadwal samasthanam flourished here, vassal state of the powerful nizams of hyderabad. 

the queen, maharani adhi lakshmi devamma, is said to have inspired the craft of gadwal sarees. she had weavers brought in from coastal regions and the "jari chiralu" were devised. "chiralu" is telugu for sarees, "chira" is saree. "jari", i am guessing, refers to zaree or gold and silver coated thread. gadwals used to be called "mathiampeta" once, but in time it acquired the name of the town where the looms brought it into being.

curiously, the queen didn't go for an all silk saree. she could no doubt afford it, if one is to go by the fancy fort and temples built in her time. usually, when royalty is involved with garment, it's all about silk. yet, i murmur to myself, there are exceptions. the dhakai jamdani, but that was in ethereal muslin. the paithani, also originally of cotton body.  the kanjeevaram... yes, yes, became synonymous with silk much later. 

still, intrigued me this choosing of cotton with silk edges by the queen, at a time of nizams and durbars, as foreign powers vied for influence and courts flaunted their riches. could it be because it was too hot to be wearing silk in that arid deccan land? or was it because this was cotton growing country and great hand spun cotton yarn was readily available? and because it fed the farmer, the yarn maker, the weaver even while pleasing the queen?

 

from the cotton fields of telengana, images courtesy uploader. a friend tells me, "the loose cotton from plants is called patti (t soft), when it is woven into a cloth, it is simply called kaatan."

gadwals traditionally have pure, fine cotton bodies with rich silk borders and pallu. that is their most distinctive mark. and the curious deep gleam of the zaree, yes that.

i particularly noticed this when i went looking for my gadwals the other day. it was day time but the light was low. i slid open the wardrobe panel and scanned the shelves of cottons, couldn't spot any of my gadwals. a little frantic, i stood on my toes to peer at the shelf above. and there among a stack of cottons, something called out... a steady secure gleam.

i knew even before i went to pull it out what saree it was.

really, how do you do that? i wanted to ask the saree. 

it was a white one with purple border and pallu that i'd bought for my mother's sixtieth birthday many years ago. a calming breeze drifted by, everything settled down. 

the lustre of subtle, poised zaree catches and stores memory perhaps.

things change, gadwals are made in only silk also nowadays. those two similar looking greenish yellow and green and yellow checked ones are in silk. so is the grey one. 

but the contrast border story is still intact. as is a hint of delighting zaree somewhere, even if not on the entire border. the brocaded motifs come from nature and local architecture mostly. specific and intricate weaving techniques are in use. the borders and pallu are woven separately and attached to the body in the "kuttu" tradition. of course, gadwal now has a gi or geographical indication. only gadwals from this terroir (yes, a saree has that) are considered authentic. 1930s they say were good years for gadwal.

i had a lovely encounter with one of my gadwals the other day, and as i write i am beginning to think it's time i looked for a new one... maybe in orange? with an off beat contrast? what say?

 

 

more gadwal rambles

a tale of two sarees

i had to wear a saree today

 

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sarees tell stories | cotton gadwals from kolkata, mumbai, hyderabad, bought over the years. yellow and checked silk gadwal silks from abhihaara social enterprise, hyderabad, bought 2020. you can find them on instagram @abhihaara

telengana, the home of gadwal sarees. map courtesy uploader.

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sarees tell stories index

the friday saree index

how many pleats? index

i stopped wearing sarees

 

funny i should start a blog on sarees. for years i avoided sarees like the pl...  i was convinced i was too fat to wear them.

my mother, who was unabashedly of considerable girth, and was always in a saree, would laugh at me. she started wearing sarees at thirteen, and other than salwar kameez a few times as a teenager, she'd never worn anything but a saree since then.

she was so comfortable with it in fact, she'd wrap it around her in minutes... sitting on her bed. 

i am not exaggerating. 

at some point during this nifty operation, she'd raise herself to a half-standing position, and slip the pallu end languidly around her, then sit back adjusting the pallu so it fell gracefully across her body, and she was done.

all the while i'd be thinking, how, how, how is she even doing that?

she was as i said not exactly thin, but she never looked awkward or strange in a saree. same with my aunts, great aunts, and grandmothers. not everyone was large, but they weren't size zero either. 

so where had i got this idea that one had to be super slim to look good in a saree? i keep hearing a similar thing from my chinese friends, they insist you have to have a ramp model figure to wear a cheongsam. really? is this some conspiracy by some evil empire to do away with our natural, native attire? yet another way to occupy our minds? ok, i'm just kidding. 

don't get me wrong, i loved sarees even when i didn't wear them. what a tussle that was. i love you but door raho... stay far away from my sight. don't tempt me. let me wear my tent-like salwar kameez, my oversized shirts, and hide my less than perfect body.

my sarees stayed quietly waiting in the cupboard.

then one day, around the time my daughter was born, i was forty-one then, that i felt this feeling... i wanted to wear a saree. 

to h with size, fears, conventions.

i'd learnt to wear a saree when i was fifteen or sixteen. my aunt – my mamima, my mother's brother's wife – had taught me. she was a good teacher, she used a neat trick to flatten the edges and get a smooth look around the waist where you start drawing the saree up to wrap it for the final twist to the pallu. she was particular about pleating and from the first tuck to the last swish of the pallu, she instructed me to be aware and in control.

everyone all my life has said to me how well i wear my saree. it used to please me.

yet, i think i never owned my saree wearing.

never made it part of me.

i mean, would i sit on the bed and drape my beautiful saree?

so, after almost ten years, i started wearing sarees again. and buying them... oh, that was fun. i've stopped being too strict about every detail as i wear a saree. i relax and let it flow about me. i tuck and pull where i feel i need to, but i indulge the fabric as well believing it'll do its thing and make me look good.

the saree has still not become as everyday and part of self as it was for my mother, but it's getting there. my usual garb continues to be oversized shirts and long skirts, but every friday evening, i wear a saree. 

it's shabbath in our home, my husband and daughter are jewish... the perfect occasion and excuse to let six yards whirl about me and set the day aside from others. my version of friday dressing, you might say. i also take a picture of me all decked up.

we often view the saree as something special, only meant for occasions, if at all. even inconvenient. not contemporary. unwieldy.

it can be unwieldy till you get the hang of it, a bit inconvenient too maybe, but aren't the best things in life always a little difficult? 

as for contemporary, if you are, that's what counts.

i am planning to wear a svelte black patola this evening. going for a birthday dinner. no, i won't wear it sitting on my bed, but i will wear it quickly, happily, knowing it's part of me.

bought this patola from neeru kumar many years ago. clever, intricate, deft weave. back then, prices were not as crazy as they're now. i've worn it many times, and every time felt a thrill. i'm not sure whether it's a double or single ikat, must find out. the beige saree above... it was on the second night of passover this year that i wore it. a fine cotton saree, possibly south indian cotton, with a woven black border, and minutely detailed delicate lucknow chikan motifs all over, from fabindia, kolkata. i remember going back again and again to see it and finally justifying the price in my mind. what a relief. 

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sarees tell stories | beige cotton with chikankari from fabindia, kolkata, 2019. black patola from neeru kumar, mumbai, around 2004/5. 

 

sarees tell stories index

the friday saree index

how many pleats? index

 

 

my photo credit ferolyn fernandez