I dragged my friend Apoorva shopping with me. We found a beautiful silk sage green sari, with maroon/violet trimmings. To me, it felt a bit like curtain shopping -- tons of fabric, folded up on hangers to peruse. I must say, it was entirely liberating to be freed of looking for a size that fits. All saris, no matter who is wearing them, is the same length fabric. The only thing that must be measured is the sari blouse, or choli. These are always tailored to fit.
Sari in hand, I head up to my colleague's wedding in Calcutta. I have no idea how to tie a sari, but I figure there would be more than enough people at the hotel to help me. One hour before the wedding is to start, I make my way downstairs to find a woman who could help. Somehow, everyone at the hotel is a man; there are no women working there, and I can't find a grandmotherly guest to help! So here I am, going down the streets of Calcutta, half-dressed in a sari (wearing my jeans underneath), and looking for someone to help me get dressed! Down the street, an old woman has pity on me and ties me up.
A good hour later, I finally head to the wedding (good thing weddings here never start on time). If nothing else, I'm just proud to be wearing a sari!... until I get there, and find that everyone is wearing Western clothing. More than that, they're all wearing... jeans.
Fast forward a few years later. I had a sari made for my wedding this past summer, which was, surprisingly, a delightful experience. I would go to my sari-maker's house in Lodi Colony, and sit and have chai while we discussed various sari styles. Remembering how long it took to tie my sari last time, we worked together to design a "fake" sari, or more affectionally known as a "half-sari". Essentially, rather than one giant piece of cloth that wraps up, a half-sari consists of a skirt connected with a long piece of cloth that you drape around your back and across your shoulder. As a sari-maker for the past forty years, it absolutely killed my sari-maker to do this "shortcut." Instead, she kept trying to show me how to tie a sari. After watching me a few times though, and with the prospect of my sari falling off in the middle of my wedding, she finally succumbed.
We chose the colors and the materials...and a few months later, it was completed. Gorgeous in many ways, but also a bit off. The color wasn't quite right, the decorations a bit too much. Needless to say, I loved it for my wedding, but in returning to Delhi, I was excited to have another one made that wasn't so... pink.
About a month ago, I came back to Shilu, my sari-maker, and together we designed another sari. Midnight blue, this time. I pictured myself wearing it to black-tie weddings in the US and other formal affairs. Not wanting it to be too gaudy, we chose silver instead of gold trims. Since Shilu's son is getting married this month, she said she would make it "extra special" so I could wear it to the wedding.
Between a crazy day of meetings today, I stopped by Shilu's to pick it up. It was a special treat between the mania of my day, and I arrived with excited anticipation to pick it up.
"It's perfect!!" -- Shilu beamed. "I made it extra special for the wedding!" Excited, I walked over to her living room to take a look and try it on.
And then I stopped in my tracks.
Midnight blue, yes. And silver, yes, as well. If by silver, you mean big silver stars all over the blue background. "It's not so bad, it's not so bad," I kept telling myself. I put on a smile and tried it on.
Looking at the mirror, there was no denying it. I looked like an American flag. All that was missing was a cape of red. I looked over to Shilu, who was beaming, and forced a smile.
Next time, I'll have to be careful of what "extra special" means.
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