Nearly every Indian kid has taken a chunni, wrapped themselves up like a kabab in a roomali and strutted around pretending it’s a sari. Women wear them all the time. While dealing with several bratty kids as they seamlessly handle the house finances, teaching in classrooms, walking down streets, making super important corporate decisions, hanging off handholds in buses and metros, waking up in the morning with fully applied makeup… Okay, maybe the last one only really happens in television serials. The point is, saris are everywhere. So when did wearing one become ‘bringing it back’?
While I’m not arguing everybody should and must wear saris all the time or even once in a while, I am posing the question: Why does it become such a big deal when a woman wears a sari? Correction: When a YOUNG woman wears a sari.
The 9-yard (or 5-yard or 6-yard or whatever length you prefer) garment has become an object of wonder and admiration – an exotic, rare sight. But only if someone in their 20s wears it.
For some reason, saris have become the domain of the 45-and-above generation. Nobody gazes in wonder when a middle-aged woman dons a Kanjivaram. But a 20-something college going sari-wearer is an anomaly and must be treated as such, apparently.
“You look so pretty.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“Ohho, sari and all, eh?”
Not that the compliments are a problem (as long as they’re coming from friends and well-wishers, not roadside Romeos). It’s just that intense reactions to a sartorial choice may affect someone’s decision to wear a sari every day or even regularly. Who wants to be the centre of attention all the time?
Plus, having to text your friends/colleagues to warn them that you’re going to show up in a sari just to limit the surprise (shock?) seems like a tad bit too much.
And when a young girl/woman wears a sari, suddenly she’s seen as really grown up. She becomes one with the 45-somethings in whose domain the contentious clothing lies. “I find women in saris intimidating,” said a colleague as I looked on in confusion, wondering how I went from being ribbed about my hair and addiction to grammar to ‘intimidating’.
Arguments heard against wearing a sari: ‘They’re really difficult to deal with and they take a really long time to drape.” “They’re so formal. Nobody just wears a sari every day.” “I don’t feel comfortable in them.” “All that washing, starching and stitching of blouses is a pain.”
Of these, the last two arguments are probably the only ones that truly makes sense.
Point one: Any piece of clothing that you’re not used to will probably be difficult to deal with. The same can be said for dresses if you wear them very rarely. And they only take a long time to drape if you don’t know how. Which is a problem solved through practice. Case in point, our grandmothers.
Point two: They’ve only taken on a sense of formality because of the rarity with which they’re pulled out of our closets. Marriages? Yes. Engagements? Yes. “Indian-themed” parties? Yes. Wait, what is an Indian-themed party anyway? Don’t we lead Indian-themed lives? Okay, I digress. The bottom line is they’re seen as formal because they’re bought for formal occasions and only worn once in a blue moon. Saris come in all types, colours and designs, including light, cotton dailywear.
Do I hear you say, “So, where’s the problem? Just wear saris more often”? Exactly. There’s no problem at all. After all, our lives are pretty ‘Indian-themed’, no? And what’s more desi than the sari? No matter how it’s draped.
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