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It’s been a while and 2018 begins with many contemplations on days gone by, moments lost and found, courses re-calibrated and a little Utopia that I know is hiding somewhere deep within spools of fleeting trepidation.
My wardrobe took me into such a contemplative space today when a forgotten bit of joy tumbled into my hands.
We can be such suckers for nostalgia, can’t we? And as a nostalgic Indian, I stepped right back in time on seeing my humble mulmulemboldened with aristocratic Indus histories of 5000 years ago. It’s hard not to reminisce less ancient hues of colonial Bengal, whose memories are as indelible as the dye that wrought them. It’s hard too, for an imperial heritage, not to reincarnate its stoic stance, despite divergences into denim diaries and other such, reminding us, while it reinvents itself, of our identities that stand their ground, proud in traditions that remain ever in vogue.
The tireless sari triumphs again, imprinted with another timeless legacy – the indi…