saree aunty: saree love

photos credit ferolyn fernandez

Wednesday, February 9, 2022

it was black this friday : the friday saree

how many sarees do you have? what, you're buying more sarees? where will you where them? you've got to stop buying sarees you know...

has anyone told you such things? familiar, these words?

well, i don't blame well meaning friends and harried husband speaking their minds.

but really.

i don't have to wear sarees to love them. or... do i?

how it happened i can't exactly trace but somewhere along the way, the saree got so left out from the idea of dressing up.

i've never not liked or loved sarees, though it never became my daily dress as it was for my mother and grandmothers. yet for occasions, for special anything, i'd wear a saree. in fact, i'd wear a saree to work when i was twenty one, battling crowded buses, pothole filled roads, the heat and dust and grime of calcutta.

and yet, i lost touch with sarees. the need to wear them waned.

about twenty years ago, it all came surging back, happily.

but where would i wear sarees, here in singapore? okay, sometimes to work maybe. and then? wait for occasions? would the twenty new sarees in my cupboard be able to hold their drama till then?

then it struck me.

i have an occasion every week. in my own home.

shabbat.

my husband and daughter are jewish. along with my brother in law, we observe shabbat every friday evening at home. we all get together and have shabbat dinner. good food is made, alcohol imbibed, we chat and relax, bread is broken, wine blessed, prayers and song fill the evening, plates are filled and emptied, the evening flows by.

shabbat, which means seven in hebrew, is a day to be set aside from the rest of the week. it is a sacred day, the day when after creating everything, god rested. wonderful, i thought, as i pondered this. my way of marking this day... i'll wear a saree every friday.

it's perhaps one of the best thoughts i've ever had. i am grinning as i write that.

this friday, february 4, 2022, i wore a fabulously embroidered black silk from bishnupur in west bengal. it's designed by the tremendously talented sharbari dutta. sadly, she passed away suddenly a couple of years ago. she had made this saree for me, as she knows my uncle and aunt and also about my love of sarees. usually, she designed men's clothes only, for she felt not enough had been done in that area in the context of indian fashion.

every motif on that saree is drawn by her. the chain stitch is fine and detailed. the colours are balanced and surprising... that sudden violet. there's a playful note in the execution.

a saree i've worn many times and it has never failed to delight.

the last time i wore this saree,

it was new year in the jewish calendar.

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i had to wear a saree today

my photos credit ferolyn fernandez

Tuesday, February 8, 2022

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

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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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Friday, October 2, 2020

time for khadi

the two of us donned khadi sarees and did a happy photo shoot. we were remembering an incredible man and all that he did so we today can be us. to mohandas karamchand gandhi and his ingenious ideas to oppose and take down the oppressor.

a thing for khadi

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photos credit ferolyn fernandez

Thursday, September 3, 2020

checks and no balance from chettinad

it was a couple of years ago i think, that a good friend of mine said, since i loved sarees so much we should go to chettinad together.

chettinad?

i was surprised. what did chettinad have to do with sarees? chettinad was about chicken with a distinct peppery taste, which no matter how many recipes i looked up on the net, i never seemed to get right. it was about food: spicy, aromatic, delicious. it was about the famous chettiars who travelled all over south east asia, trading, lending money, being merchant bankers, and brought back the tastes of those countries to their traditional food.

growing up in the north and east, i’d of course heard of cottons from south india. kanchi cotton, mangalgiri, coimbatore… but never chettinad. my friend smiled at my ignorance, and insisted, i had to see these beautiful handloom cotton sarees. women weaved them usually, and like many of our gorgeous weaving traditions, this too was struggling to survive. though efforts were on to revive it.

she also spoke of the palatial homes of the chettiars, with their magnificent art and architecture, grand belgian glass, italian marble, chandeliers and fine wood work. one had to see those too. in fact, one had to live in one of them. her friend’s family had converted their home to a hotel, as many were doing, so the plan was to go and stay there for a couple of days, eat real chettinad food – the vegetarian fare is fabulous as well, in fact, the chettiars were originally vegetarians i just read – and visit the weavers, buy lots of rich ethnic sarees.

even planning this gave me a high. then as happens with plans cooked up over a nice lunch, it didn’t really materialise. time passed. chandeliers swayed; pepper, nutmeg, cloves, and blue ginger were balanced by experienced hands; yarns were soaked in redolent earthy colours; another saree got woven. and every time my friend and i met, we averred, we must not forget to go on that trip.

a couple of weeks ago, i got a whatsapp message: nowadays have you noticed, how whatsapp messages seem to have hegemony over news of all kinds? from revolutions to religion to good morning wishes to jokes, the whatsapp message delivers all, and delivers them first. this time it was an ad for an exhibition… of chettinad sarees.

a friend of mine, whom i met only once in a while, had sent it. her friends had been to chettinad, and were completely enamoured of the sarees; they were also moved by the plight of the weavers. so they had picked up a handful for sarees and were having a sale. they planned to help the weavers with the profits. since she knew i was sort of fond of sarees – ah, reputation, one must think what one would like to be remembered for – she had messaged me.

i was delighted and showed up early for the exhibition with the friend who had told me about these sarees in the first place. there weren’t too many pieces, but each one was beautiful. too few sarees, too many women… alas. i managed to grab a couple, even as i looked longingly at a few that had already found their takers.

the cotton was slightly coarse in some, finer in others. the colours were unguarded, full, and luscious. a quality of gem stones in them. there was a boldness in the sarees’ demeanour: checks all over in contrasting tones or simple single colour body, edged by border in an off beat, at times flamboyant, shade. well articulated patterns and motifs. a touch of gold here and there. or not. just unusual tones and the elegance of unfettered cotton.

as i clutched my sarees and watched the video on the weavers and the mansions of karaikudi, the main city of chettinad, my mind wandered to streets and temples of singapore, and a story with diverse threads searched for its connections, its warp and weft.

after coming to singapore, i’d heard of the chettiars, a community from india, who were once mainly money lenders. they’d come here early on, soon after the british took over in 1819. they operated from shops on market street, chulia street, and neighbouring lanes. now of course, it’s all spiffy glass and concrete, and you don’t see the kittangis, where they lived and worked. living quarters upstairs, shops downstairs.

the chettiar sat on the floor in traditional wear of white cotton, with his sacred ash markings on the forehead, and his mind alert and sharp; before him a low wooden desk with books and other necessities. the chettiars were known for their financial acumen. the community though hadn’t always been money lenders, they were traders for centuries, dealing in salt, spices, and gem stones. later as the british expanded their trade interests in the region, the wealthy merchants turned to money lending and finance.

the chettiars came to singapore long before the big banks had arrived in the region. back then, they were perhaps the only people ready to offer a legitimate line of credit to small businesses, plantation owners, even larger enterprises. in a way, they were the first bankers and financiers around here.

the kittangis, those unique shop houses, had only men, for the itinerant merchants initially didn’t bring their families over. the sons accompanied their fathers once they were around eight or nine years old. and from that age onward they were gradually trained in matters of business in a sternly disciplined environment.

while they lived away from their ancestral land, the chettiars used their considerable wealth to build beautiful and ostentatious homes there. so they are are often referred to as nattukottai chettiars or "people with palatial houses on the countryside" or nagarathars, city dwellers. looks like, the homes were mainly inhabited by the women of the family, where they in all likelihood perfected and embellished their distinctive cuisine while draped in these gorgeous cotton sarees, just right for that arid, hot part of tamil nadu.

a few years ago, when i went to the sri layan sithi vinayagar temple on keong saik street in the heart of chinatown, i learnt that the temple was built by the chettiars. one of the oldest hindu temples here, on tank road, was built by them in 1859. the chettiars were wealthy, they were hardworking, and they were highly religious. i had of course never connected sarees with these serious men in white.

on a walk in singapore, just off river valley road, i’d come across three roads named after three men of the community. obviously these were people of importance and they must have contributed something to this country to have been honoured so. today, the chettiars who live here are no longer money lenders, they are professionals in various fields, and highly regarded many of them.

the chettinad sarees were getting slightly wrinkled in my hands as i thought about all these things, and women i barely knew smiled at each other and me as well, as we spoke of the karaikudi palaces, the houseproud aachis who cooked wonderful authentic dishes, the women who weaved, their needs, their artistry, their warmth, the weather, a different life far away, its only hint in the colours and fabric we all held close.

some day, my friend and i must go on that trip, yes, we must.

my saree with one thousand aayiram or buttas/motifs within the checks.

picture courtesy uploader

the quintessential checks of chettinad sarees.

wrote this one on november 5, 2018.

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sarees tell stories | turquoise and navy checks with a purplish maroon border; and beige with a thousand red buttas and checks in red and turmeric with a plain turmeric border… two sarees from an exhibition in singapore, november 2018.

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.

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

my photo credit ferolyn fernandez

Tuesday, September 1, 2020

the black paithani

i think it was in 1984 that i first heard of paithani sarees. while struggling with the correct way to say the name and marvelling at all the stories of how real gold thread was used in its tapestry weave and how the art was almost dying but now the government of maharashtra was reviving it, and oh they were so expensive so exclusive (that favourite word) and almost sighing at the fact that i’d never ever be able to acquire/afford one, i of course never thought the paithani saree would actually take me to ancient rome one day.

and yet, that’s exactly where this black paithani took me this afternoon.

a few years back, determined to get myself a paithani and not be deterred by the fact i was not in india, nor the price (i muttered severely to myself about how this was art and one just had to, etc.) i started searching the net for a good shop.

found touch of class paithani there. lovely young woman called rashmi tapadia runs the place and after i’d gone ahead and bought one without knowing anything about them other than what they said on their website, i was totally floored by the way the whole things was managed. the no fuss, easy way of working, the prompt service and finally, ah the saree… a beautiful off white with fiery orange border.

i called rashmi to thank her and found myself asking if she customised sarees. of course, she did. and what was the zaree like? was it really gold zaree? she said, no, but they did use very high content silver zaree thread for some of their sarees and silk from bangalore, not china as it originally used to be. they had their own looms where ancient motifs were adhered to and the weavers got a decent deal.

there’s a certain joy in discussing a saree and getting it the way you want it to be, though with ample respect for the creators’ instinct. if they sound totally stressed by your ideas, good to hear what they have to say. i wasn’t disappointed with the blue saree that came of our first chat. and just yesterday this one arrived. jet black with shades of mauve and purple, a touch of blue in the pallu… i notice flecks of pale pink here and there, such a fine understanding of colour and impact.

as i pranced about the room, showing it to whoever was around, i started reading the brochure accompanying it. there was something about the satvahana kings and ancient rome there. i had read this before but suddenly this time it got me.

i am imagining this gorgeous roman lady, statuesque and most haughty, wrapped in her paithani something or the other. paithani toga??? mutter mutter. what did beautiful women of rome wear two thousand years ago?

what? the number registers.

this textile art was developed back then. a unique way to weave multiple threads of many colours an gold and silver yarns using the ancient technique of tapestry to create a fine piece of fabric.

striking colours and motifs with meaning were always part of its story. peacocks in bangles, mango, parrots, the coconut inspired nareli borders… everything had symbolism and auspicious interpretations.

paithani grew and flourished on the banks of godavari, a river i am yet to see, in pratishthanapura or paithan, the capital of the highly established and large satvahana empire that spanned right across the centre of india from 230 bce to 220 ce.

later when the muslim rulers came, they too fell for the resplendent sheen of paithani. aurangzeb loved the stuff as did the nizam of hyderabad. weaving centres came up near the nizam’s city.

while all this had me rushing around time trying to imagine the splendour of courts and courtesans and vain kings and beautiful queens, a mughal e azam of sorts in full technicolor in my mind… what i couldn’t get over was rome.

seems soon after the conquest of egypt by rome in 30 bce, trade between rome and india and other parts of asia increased dramatically, along the sea route i am guessing. and silks from china and india, including the wondrous paithani became such a rage and such a drain on roman gold, paisa paisa paisa, that the senate issued several edicts banning the wearing of silk.

of course, everyone merrily blamed women for their wayward ways and expensive tastes, teehee, what changes ever.

30 bce, egypt… the year cleopatra died. i wonder if she ever saw a paithani or wore one. so many places a mere baro haath saree as we say in bangla, a twelve arm-lengths saree, can ferry you. the paithani really is a saree of splendid colours i think and something about it is pure gold.

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wrote this on april 26, 2015

paithan is near aurangabad in maharashtra.

my paithanis were made in pune by touch of class paithani.

(map courtesy uploader.)

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sarees tell stories | the black paithani from touch of class paithani, pune, 2015.