Showing posts with label patola. Show all posts
Showing posts with label patola. Show all posts

Saturday, March 12, 2022

that thing about classics: the friday saree

 

it's a heavy silk, its weight lets it fall with a ballerina's grace. it flows and extends and pirouettes around you. i wore the black and white patola last evening admiring everything about it again. the fabric, the tie and dye, the restraint, the soft smooth feel against my skin and in my hand as i held it. bought in bangalore, years ago, a dear friend and my husband had chosen it. i had just started getting mad about sarees. my friend wasn't well then, but she had still taken my husband to the shop, bandhej, and helped him select a saree for me. i thought of my friend again. i had met her at the ad agency where i first met the mac. where i started thinking of steve jobs. i thought about my husband, who's away on work at the moment. he is not exactly the saree buying kind of man, but he'd gone anyway, and chosen a black and white. predictable but always fabulous. classic. like my friend, my husband, and of course mr jobs. so i wore the saree i was planning to, hope the look was just so.

previous post: a saree for mr jobs


 
 

sarees tell stories index

the friday saree index

 
 
photo credit ferolyn fernandez

Friday, March 11, 2022

a saree for mr jobs

 

the mind is a messy place. nothing comes to it in a simple clear way. thoughts rush or meander or just walk by aimlessly, sometimes they crash, they burn, then again thoughts and more thoughts.

i am sitting here this morning, staring at my computer screen, letting this ride of thoughts go on. not that i can stop it. i am perhaps lonely, a little disturbed. something from last evening lingers. a tremor in the brain, in the heart. i want my mind to focus, think of something that is of use, that has a direction.

should i write about sarees? always engages my mind. i am staring at the computer screen. an imac.

was it 1991 or 1992 that i saw a computer that said hi to me? bangalore, my first job as a copywriter. a big bulky computer on my desk. first time such a machine anywhere near me. press f1, press f2... green type on black screen. a little stodgy. wordpress? think it was called that, the software.

every once in a way, a call to the mac room. an airconditioned cubicle with glass all around, where the macs sat and only those who were allowed to touch them were allowed entry. not lowly new copywriters. not usually.

only when some copy corrections had to be made and the superior beings who were in communion with the mysterious machines needed that pointless thing called copy changed, and they wouldn't deign to do such menial tasks, were writers given access. of course, you had to take your shoes off before entering this hallowed precinct. it's a miracle we weren't barred from exhaling.

i walked in, i remember, and the boss of the mac room with his usual surly expression, nodded towards a tiny computer in the corner, next to one of the splendid large ones with magical colours on the screen. it was a small but tall machine, not the usual rectangular shape, horizontal longer than vertical. was the other way round. i was told to switch it on, i dutifully must have.

the screen came on... grey. then a little computer appeared on it. a line drawing. a word popped up. hi.

a computer had just greeted me. not a computer. no. a mac.

why do i remember this so well? did i break into a smile? that first meeting with the mac? it was a a mac se i think, just read se means "system expansion". or was it a compact macintosh classic? whatever it was, that computer spoke to me and smiled. no press f1, press f2, and blinking green cursor.

mr jobs was not even at apple at the time. forced out and in exile practically. but his thoughts, how do you banish those? once they're out, they're out, and influencing someone, somewhere... certainly the mac design engineers.

later he'd return to apple, play his own games, and save the company, take it to unbelievable financial heights... trillion would enter the corporate jargon and ambition. but by then i'd read insanely great, a gift from my husband, because ever since that hi from a computer i'd been muttering about this man called steve jobs. 

and i don't really care about corporate men. the only other one i'd found interesting was akio morita, because sony was the first tv i'd seen, and my father had bought a sony record player back in 1974 with much joy, also given my brothers and me a sony cassette player each for he was convinced if we taped our lessons and heard them as we read, we'd absorb information better, it would make for more thorough studying. then there was the walkman. so when mr morita's made in japan came out during those initial days of books by not authors but company executives, i did read it, and enjoyed it a lot. but i didn't go on about him. about steve jobs i did. so jacob got me that book.

i don't remember exact words or moments, but while reading insanely great i felt a thrill that stayed on. someone who thinks of what's to come. and doesn't let anything get in the way of it. certainly not the usual tings that businesses apply to gauge a situation, read a market, plan the next.

a man with an instinct and a cocky crazy faith in himself. hard to restrain, hard to perhaps even like.

in later browsings, i read somewhere, he dated two women at once and would ask his friends whom should he go with, the looker or the other one. think he went with the latter and was happy too. there was of course lisa, the computer named after the daughter with whom he hardly had a relationship till much later. there was the experimenting with drugs, even the not at all enamoured of india side, and i am touchy about that. yes, a flawed man... as perhaps we all are.

but that other side of him. those thoughts of his. that looked straight at what is to come. not burdened by memory or tradition, almost crystal gazing. i can't stop my heartbeats from picking up pace when i think of this.

and where he took it. and how.

we moved to singapore in november 1997, and i started working with an ad agency soon after that. in 1999, i left my job and went to jordan for a six month assignment. on my return, i joined the singapore agency again. when i walked into my office, there was this computer sitting on my desk, which looked nothing like a computer. it was a cross between a lozenge and a spaceship. colourful, translucent, snazzy, futuristic, asking me to bite into it and zoom off into outer space with spock and scotty. it was the first imac, mine was in teal green, a hand me down from my boss. this was steve jobs's first computer after his return to apple.

2001 onwards came one after another things that would change our lives, literally forever. not just computers, every time a new idea. itunes, ipod, iphone... he was reshaping apple for the next century, he seemed to know where he would take it – not just the company, the future. 

no one might have gone there before. first officer spock may not be at hand, but a man who was difficult to work with, who wasn't even an engineer, who didn't create technology, who was accused of stealing (how many times i've heard the gui or icon was not his idea, he saw it at xerox, he filched it... ok, but who, who, who saw its use, its possibilities, its place in our lives, i feel like screaming), who was accused of making too expensive everything, who made things look unnecessarily good, who had dropped out of college, who was gimmicky, whose desk was really messy (perhaps his thoughts even?)... and who was no one's ideal candidate for messiah or changer of our world, he went ahead and did it anyway.

i think of his last invention, the iphone. look what it's made possible.

from looking up recipes, to playing games, to keeping an eye on the child at home, to searching up information, to paying bills, banking, chatting, showing off, dating, doodling, brooding, calling cabs, checking time, reading the market, farmers get links to markets on their phones, politicians persuade voters through social media, migrant labourers speak to their family as and when they please, children away from home – in the same city or on another continent – keep in touch all the time (when my father went to toronto to study back in 1952, think he made two or three phone calls home in those three years; when i came to singapore in 1997, i paid hundreds of dollars on phone calls every month, now my daughter is in london, and we chat when we like for free, just the time difference in the way of things), tv correspondents cover news on specially engineered phone, photographs fly across cyber space on instagram... isn't the phone in every interface, in every act of ours?

the smartphone crosses barriers we've never dreamed of crossing before.

without that iphone, would there be this now so familiar word, app? and all that apps do and we do with them? akio morita made music mobile. steve jobs perhaps knew the power of that mobility. he took a phone and made it something scotty would be in charge of in spaceship enterprise. oh, you can also make phone calls with it.

things he conceived of were not just for the "higher" or niche needs, nor just for the rich and the famous. they were for everyone, each one of us. many may not be able to afford an iphone, but once the idea was realised, manufacturers with cheaper options were bound to come along. and of course they did. 

he made this esoteric and dare i say unpretty looking realm of information and its technology into an easy cool thing, meant for everyone, within reach, refreshing, like coca-cola. actually , much more... part of us.

one man's way of thinking, and an entire species's today and tomorrow are different. changed the course of things i keep thinking. in ways not yet fully known or understood.

just five years older than me. died at 55, having done what he did. i miss him. sometimes with a great long sigh.

wonder what he would have done next. i keep the iphone 5, the last phone he launched with that black turtleneck and blue jeans look, because it was his last. three years after i bought it, the battery started giving trouble, i took it to the shop. sorry, they said, this model had a problem, so we are replacing the batteries for free. yesterday, i noticed again the battery was working just fine.

my thoughts are all over the place, reflected in the writing.

think of it as notes.

sometimes there's more honesty at this level of writing.

but why a saree for mr jobs? maybe because i missed him just now and since i am wearing a saree this evening, my friday saree, why not for him? also, the other day i read, the jacqard loom invented in 1801 by joseph jacqard, is the first machine to use punch cards to instruct a machine to do certain tasks. this knowhow would later be used in the development of computers. i love handloom and resist overuse of jacquard looms, but they have brought a lot of ease and economy to fabric, even saree, weaving.

so, which saree? i am reminded of his think different campaign. the commercial with black and white pictures of remarkable men and women who changed our world. he insisted on the black and white, think he had many of their shots in his room. 

i have this patola in b/w. it must be the one.

here's to you, mr jobs...


………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. sarees tell stories | black and white classic ikat saree from bandhej, bangalore, bought around 2008.

 

sarees tell stories index

the friday saree index



Wednesday, September 2, 2020

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. 

..........................................

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

 

 

my photo credit ferolyn fernandez

iron nails and camel dung