A container decorated with a bow opens up, and an aquamarine blue wrap unfurls. Next up, comes some spiffy animation, showing an admirably fit lady with short hair trying on a drape in various styles. Till now, I’m merely curious. After all, what harm can a simple animation character do to your already-injured ego and ‘healthy’ looks? That’s until it turns into a sizzling hot Mandira Bedi, washboard abs and all, in her Salt brand of drapes, walking with the confidence of someone who owns the water, the beach and everything summery.
Salt is the latest from Mandira, a pro at reinvention. The official website describes it thus: “It breaks the conventional boundaries by ease of wear, drape and use. Inspired by the utility of a sarong, this saree gives you the pallu that can just be thrown on before or after a swim.”
The sari as some sort of swimwear. Now, that’s a first, if you ignore the countless women in the hinterland who live by streams and rivers. They effortlessly swim across banks, tucking in their sari, wash part of the sari even as the other remains draped, and emerge from the waters not looking like Ursula Andress but as desi superwomen.
After viewing the ad, which celebrated the various ways in which what they call the sari can be draped, I was reminded of the first few times I wore my sari, nearly 25 years ago. The ad turned on its head what I’ve grown up hearing: “The sari must fall at the sweet spot just below your ankle and above the ground”. This version hovers somewhere near the knee, and mostly above it. I admit it looks smashing on Mandira and the others, who’ve posted photos on Twitter, sporting the latest sensation. But then, theirs is an exclusive club.
You see, the sari serves a dual purpose — it throws the spotlight on your curves, even as it seamlessly covers all the extra adipose! I’ve always loved the sari, and even more so for reason number two.
For a generation so used to wrapping five-and-a-half metres of fabric around them, after having learnt the fine art of pleating it, everything else falls so short. My mantra for getting the pleats, and consequently a particular cursive alphabet right, is my grammar guru-amma’s mantra… “You know how ‘f’ must look when written in cursive? Like a lady who’s tucked in her sari and is stretching out her fingers to start pleating!”
I’m so in love with the traditional way of wearing the sari that nothing else comes close. After all, this is a style that has stood the test of time, and ephemeral fashion trends. And, the sari has yielded to the changing form and role of the Indian woman. From the kachche that turns the sari into a trouser of sorts, allowing women to work in the fields with ease and mount horses Rani Lakshmibai style, to the current pleated and pinned version that allows you to look elegant and propah at corporate meetings, or all set to rock a party with just a pin removed and pallu let down, its versatility deserves to be celebrated. It’s mighty utilitarian too — the pallu , that gorgeous creation which bears witness to the creativity of weavers and designers, can protect you from the sun, help wrap a child closer to you, turn into a fan of sorts when you’re feeling especially hot, and be your own piece of wearable art.
And what else but the traditional hand-woven sari allows you the pleasure of wearing something that celebrates craftsmanship and is rooted in local culture — cotton that comes from black earth, yarn that is processed by hand, the warp and weft combination that takes shape in a weaver’s head and is translated into fabric in a weaver’s loom…
The numerous sari pacts and the recent Registry of Sarees have majorly contributed to making the sari take on a cool avatar, and as something that can be worn by people of any age, from a wedding to a party by the pool. I love that the sari takes on so many roles with little fuss. But, I have doubts over the wearability of its latest avatar. For one, it’s lycra, a fabric I gratefully accept in my tried-and-tested trousers. But, will it kiss my skin the way a finely-combed cotton, soft silk or georgette sari does?
I’ll have to try it out to see. But, before that, I have work to do. Allow me to get into my XXL exercise gear and head to the gym — in quest of those washboard abs. Till then, there’s my trusted old Kanchi cotton to turn to. It helpfully camouflages all that ungainly fat and makes me look like I mean business.
