The Whole Nine Yards

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“Do you realise that you must wear a sari?!” a dear aunt gasped in mock earnestness, while heartily congratulating me on my looming wedding.

It brings a smile to me even now, 15 years on, when I think back on the day, as I sit snug in my well-fitted denims, exactly as I did back then, caressing fine silk and contemplating between its many folds whether the colour would reflect the light, if it was too heavy to carry and if I should escape to the ease of a chiffon kurta and silk cigarette pants for a festive albeit traditional evening.

That effortless elegance can come in lengthy fabrics of all kinds and has held our mothers securely every single day of their adult lives rendering them breathtakingly divine when the occasion so demands, is now a matter of deliberate consideration for ‘special wear’. It makes for serious thought. It is also time again for the cosmopolitan urban belle to revitalise the cultural context and rediscover the glory of the Sari – testament to a rich heritage, the humble artisan’s articulation of lore, pride of the owner’s stock and that great Indian drape which fascinates global couture, season on season.

It has always been a rage, though. Remember ‘sari day’ at school? That’s when even tomboys turned into demure gazelles for that one day when mums’ wardrobes came tumbling out in the hunt for whimsy crepes and crisp cottons that hugged just enough, not too much, with well-hung pallus wound over exactly six tucked pleats and no less, so that those minxy kitten heels would show themselves off on manicured feet and a keenly practiced trot.

That was then. Now, we indulge in nostalgia across the oceans and conform to sari pacts back home, pledging 100 days of the year in honour of the sari, launching mean business deals while airing out precious and painstakingly curated trousseaux, some of which, to our dismay, has fallen prey to neglectful years and monsoon mould. While we lament that loss, we also remember to tag a little memoir to the selfie that we do take. And just like that, we immortalise a legacy.  

In doing so, we also hashtag a region that is reminiscent, if at all, in coffee table books and retail catalogues. With that one click, we protagonise not just the sari which we wish to celebrate but also the indigenous, and endagered, art forms associated with it. We raise charities and upliftment schemes to encourage the artisans that live little to help us live large. We support the girl child getting by in those parts. We take international press into local ghettos and voila! Bespoke Madhubani takes pride of place in world repertoire.

It is more apparent now than ever, that the sari binds. In our multi-cultural panaroma, it binds tradition. In reaching far, it binds places. In its opulence, it weaves a certain je ne se quoi into the mundane – a little sweet into savvy. And in the conversations it generates, it binds people. 

After many chit-chats on weaves and designs and gharanas and other such, and many more reads on this Indian wardrobe essential, it was rather heartening to note that there are many enterprising people committed to guarding an inheritance that is too dear to be lost to quicksilver metro lifestyles. They have spun these eclectic yarns with tales as myriad as the nooks they come from. Some are exotic, some are down-right heart-warming.

And when you find young minds at work, in your front yard at that, Serendip lives again. Alankrit by Neha Garg is one such initiative that twinkled its way into my horizon when I discovered that my wardrobe had some missing links. It is an initiative that aims at up-trending ancient Gotta-patti, lappa, zardozi and other traditional work from the princely state of Rajasthan. Neha sources her merchandise from the embroiderers and delivers it directly to the consumer. By removing the middleman, she is able to generate greater employment in many small villages like Khandela, improving general living standards among the artisan community in those parts. Apart from bringing folk art into high street fashion, thereby promoting heritage, Alankrit goes a step further by empowering the girl child through education. Actively repowering the ‘Save the Sari’ movement, it aims to “stabilise local economy at the grassroots level and create a national identity”. 
“Wear a saree”, says Neha and we agree.

The storytelling has just begun.
Next in the series: Once Upon a Pallu