Scene 1: The bustling flower market of Pondy Bazaar
Curtains of jasmine and rose garlands stream from the shops on the ground floor. The sellers loudly negotiate prices with customers; nearby, a strand of yellow marigold is being packed in a slice of banana leaf. A mallipoojadai (jasmine braid) is suspended beside the garlands at Karumariamman Flower Shop. It’s a regular jadai , one would think, that will adorn a bride. But the fragrant arrangement of jasmine is set to travel to the unlikeliest of places that night.
Scene 2: The semi-dark interiors of The Vault Bar Stock Exchange
A young woman in a sleeveless top, jeans and stilettos glides in, her eyes on her phone. A group of chatty boys and girls pose for a photo near a table; another stands for a selfie with a replica of the sinewy stock market bull by the DJ console; the music and the people get louder as the evening wears on… Just then, a young woman in white shorts and a red top steps in. There’s something about her that makes heads turn. Wait a minute! Is she sporting a mallipoojadai ?
The flower jadai is as old as the tradition of marriage. Intricately woven on a base of banana fibre, it is a defining accessory for the South Indian bride. Flip through old wedding albums and you can see the bride in a silk sari, her back to a mirror that’s placed such that it reflects her magnificent flower braid. But these braids have changed with the times.
“I do make the traditional jadai , but it’s the newer versions that sell,” says D. Pandian, who makes them at Pondy Bazaar. “Brides tweak them to match their outfits. We get orders from their beauticians, who sometimes show us the wedding sari and ask us to use flowers that will go with the colour,” he adds.
Orchids, lilies… these artisans incorporate flowers traditionally not used for the purpose, in their designs. In fact, Pandian is making a red-and-white one as we speak. He picks a long-stemmed sampangi, wraps it in a rose petal and ties the arrangement on a banana fibre. Slimmer than the regular jadai , this will be much lighter. Then there’s the vaeni, a bow of flowers woven tightly together, that’s fit around a bun.
“This too can be made using flowers that match the wearer’s sari,” says Pandian.
Pandian shows us a photo of a mayil jadai on his mobile phone. Shaped like a peacock, it looks resplendent. “It takes several hours to make. A single braid weighs half a kilo, and can cost up to Rs. 5,000 during the wedding season,” he adds. “But who wears it these days?”
Little does Pandian know that at a pub nearby, the jadai that he made is making its way to the bar counter. The wearer, despite all the eyes boring into her rather unusual hairdo, walks with her head held high. The jadai is heavy; it pulls at her neck and her carefully rolled-up hair.
She sips her drink as boys at a table behind her widen their eyes at her braid that moves this way and that every time she moves her head.
A girl even stops to ask if there’s a story behind it. Is she a runaway bride? Is she a newly-married woman who decided to let her hair down minutes after the knot was tied? But why can’t one wear a mallipoojadai on a Friday night out to the pub? Perhaps, a few tweaks in length and design can make it easier to be pinned on?
The girl in the jadai walks out of the pub close to midnight, delighted at the result of her experiment. Didn’t The Vault become a tad more exciting since her arrival that evening?
