Unstitched or stitched, tucked or pleated, neoprene or linen, with a blouse or not — the versatility of the sari deserves our attention every so often. But what got us talking this time was an impromptu question and an ill-thought statement at the recent Harvard India Conference. Designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee may have quickly apologised — for using “the word ‘shame’ in reference to some women’s inability to wear a sari” — but Twitterati is still rife with posts like why “fewer young women are not (sic) wearing sarees because you’re selling ’em for 80K.” At a time when the ‘six yards’ is all about individual expression and strengthening one’s street cred, is it fair to pigeon-hole it as a uniform drape? “If innovation, form and dynamism are the definitions of contemporariness, then the sari is the most contemporary garment. While remaining unstitched, it has changed so many forms — being owned, authored and personalised by so many,” shares former Marie Claire editor Shefalee Vasudev, who has been wearing it to work (including the office of the Cosmopolitan magazine, thank you very much) and international fashion shows much before its recent ‘revival’. Of course, the question begs to be asked: did the sari ever die to be revived? Vasudev says she prefers the term reinterpretation. “The sari is a living garment and, as such, it will be interpreted, changed around, ‘dynamised’.” While the free-spirited garment headlines ever more colourful narratives, we ask a cross-section of people to weigh in on the debate.
Adaptable like language
When I was growing up, the sari was the subject of fraught conversations between the ‘elders’ and my young-adult self. It could pin you down with its compulsory femininity, it was ‘burdened’ by traditional definitions of womanhood, and, most of all, you rejected the sermon of propriety that almost always came with wearing it.
Then later, as a student of literature, the garment was the choice of rebellion. Walking down the sienna corridors of the university in a sari was a rejection of what was then the contemporary fashion of the millennium years — western ready-to-wear that was just coming into newly-constructed malls. I was no longer a young adult, and the sari had established its individual relationship with me without any sermon.
Today, when I look at the garment as a teacher of English, I see it as a language. Just as every language we speak uncovers a different self, the sari, too, is constantly finding new drapes and new ways of expression — it is a language that belongs to everyone, continually changing, absorbing popular forms and vocabulary.
If we look at the story of languages around the world, it is always the ones that have adapted to our modern reality that have spread their wings across generations and geographies. Like the modern English language, which has evolved to such an extent that ‘old English’ is almost unrecognisable now. We are a nation of over 780 languages, of which over 200 have been lost just in the last 50 years. Classical languages which resist change, like Sanskrit, are fast disappearing, becoming relics and subjects of nostalgia.
The sari, too, is like a language — it needs to be a part of our everyday vocabulary to thrive and stay relevant. The least rigid of our garments, it must always be open for interpretation.
It surprised me the last time I wore it, gathered around me in a casual glide, in a milieu where the six yards is usually associated with formality and propriety, looking like the perfect dress on a seaside summer day. It refused the sermons of traditionalism, instead choosing to speak in a contemporary language to a room full of people from across the world, who saw it as a garment liberating in its flexibility — an Indian language that could be learnt by anyone. Just as rivers cannot be owned, the sari crosses borders, telling its own tales.
Rupleena Bose teaches English in University of Delhi and is a storyteller and screenwriter.
Quick take
- Tarun Tahiliani
Master of drape, whose India Modern vibe over the years has resulted in saris with belts and gilets, and the dhoti sari
"Why don't we men wear dhotis? I've tried wearing a dhoti and it kept falling off. It didn't suit me. Nobody has the right to be catty about the sari. It is absurd and didactic to tell people what to wear. I've always said that (when) three women wear Prada they look identical, but when three women wear the same sari they look absolutely unique, based on the curves of their body and the way they drape it. It is by virtue of its unstructuredness the most adaptable, versatile garment in the world. So to now peg it and make it into this purist, holier than thou thing is of no sense, especially at the time of such transition as we've witnessed over the last 20 years in India, where small town girls can wear jeans and trousers and the salwar kameez has become ubiquitous. There are practical reasons that determines people's choices in life. Different strokes for different folks!"
- Shobhaa De
Columnist, author and "die-hard sari champion"
"The sari is the world's most perfect garment. I challenge any fashion designer to 'improve' on the basic six yards. I believe we have under-rated the power of the sari in our wardrobes. We have taken its beauty for granted. No other length of fabric is as versatile or attractive. Of course, we need to represent the basic drape in order to gain fresh 'converts'. The young must discover for themselves how absolutely smashing they look clad in our timeless weaves. Lighten up about the sari? No way! I'm prepared to go to war for it."
- Milind Soman
started Pinkathon, which sees women running in saris at editions across the country
"We see women perform the most arduous manual labour in a sari – on construction sites, rice fields, fishing in the sea. The other day I heard of a woman who skydived in a sari, so it can't be a restrictive garment. The idea of Pinkathon was to promote women's running, and view it as normal, no matter what was worn – a sari, salwar-kameez, burqa. So there have always been sari-clad women at the event. Maybe initially there was a reluctance, with a few feeling they'd be ridiculed if they didn't wear sports clothes, but that's changing. My mother (Usha Soman, 80) does push-ups and planks in them, and ran her first 10k in one."
- Himanshu Verma
founder of Red Earth, an independent arts organisation, organises The Saree Festival
"I've been wearing saris for many years, to remove the idea that men can't wear them. It's a drape; it takes the shape of your body. If you look at the history of draping styles, the current form has only been around the last 150-odd years. Before that you'll see a variety — and there were commonalities between how the dhoti and sari were draped. The current 'revival' has a lot of visibility because it's happening among the urban elite, who have a lot of visibility on social media, the press and in public life. But if you look at the numbers of people wearing saris every day, that is going down. For youngsters — not in the upper echelons, but more across a cross-section — there is still a stigma around the sari, as a lot of sartorial choices are determined by peer pressure."
- Ally Matthan
co-founded the viral #100sareepact movement
"There is a renewed interest in Indian arts, and textiles are one of our oldest forms — and the sari is how we personalise it because we wear it. It doesn't matter if it is occasion wear or daily wear, the sari isn't going anywhere. It will keep finding ways to enter our lives however much we wear urban clothes, or whether we know how to drape it or not. Tradition is dynamic. At a recent exhibition at the Crafts Museum in Delhi, I spotted a bunch of youngsters who had styled the sari in so many different ways — draping it like a dhoti with boots, belted, and even over trousers. The sari has been here before us, is there now, and will be there well after us. I am currently with The Registry of Sarees and we are working heavily on documentation. People write in saying 'we have old saris, do you know where they come from' — which means they are searching for their roots. With the #100sareepact, we told our stories; now you have a community of people interested in the back story."
- Sofia Ashraf
a rapper and singer, is often in a sari in her videos
"I don't really have an emotional connect to clothing, but as a visual artist, I do enjoy styling myself. I would describe one of my favourite looks as Indian Goth, where I pair saris with black lipstick, dark ulta and neon bindis. Being a Chennai girl, I relate more to half-saris — I wear them with jeans, bustiers and crop tops. Even when I travel, I like to play up the exotic element of the garment. Although I wore many outfits in the video, Kodaikanal Won't, the image that was most shared was the one of me in a half sari: the juxtaposition of traditional attire and rap made an impact all its own. I once acted and directed a video called Period Paatu while wearing a sari, and honestly, I didn't find it inconvenient at all."
- Rta Kapur Chishti
design developer at Taan Baan, hosts sari workshops across the country and co-authored the book, Saris of India: Tradition and Beyond
"We began The Sari School in 2009 (with two to four participatory workshops a month since then) to share our learnings with those who might like to know the basics and then attempt their own version of the sari. It can become an unstitched long or short dress, a pair of shorts, pants, peddle-pushers or even a gown... the options are endless. The sari is making a strong presence in boardrooms and law chambers today, popular among professionals who are conscious of their identity and draw strength from the versatile garment. My collaboration with Border & Fall, on the Video Sari Series project, features 82 varied drapes. There was a time when women rode horses in them and even swam in rivers, with the saris tucked between their legs — if these styles were practised today, they would evolve into contemporary fashion."
- Anupriya Kapur
has an Instagram following of 54.1k, and is known for both her sari and fitness posts
"The other day I wore a sari to a fitness product launch, where everyone else was wearing fitness clothes. To me, a sari is elegant and commands respect, and you're going to stand out at any event. But it also has connotations of the woman wearing it being older than their age and it was interpreted as me not being as fit as those wearing tiny clothes, despite the fact that I was stronger! It made me wonder whether I should dress according to the event. For the Google calendar (We Wear Culture on Google Arts and Culture), I wore my most inexpensive ₹800 sari for the #sarionme project. And it worked, because when you're fit, the sari drapes that much better."
- Payal Khandwala
made life easier for a lot of women by cutting the six yards in half for the Little Sari; enough to drape and no pleats to stumble over
"The sari is a forward thinking garment — it is the blouse that is limiting. Saris came with that 'matching blouse piece' that you had to get stitched and I got tired of doing and undoing the seams every time I gained or lost weight. So there was a time when I said "to hell with it" and started wearing it with whatever I wanted — from tank tops, shirts and jackets to cardigans. Today I prefer to pair it with collared shirts with short sleeves, long enough to cover the tummy, but comfortable and shapely. I'm not an expert draper, but I make do — I adapt the drape to suit me. But I do know women who love the sari, but are intimidated by the pleats and things. That's why I came up with the Little Sari. It's like an adaptation of the sari that meets these women halfway, while retaining the romance of the drape."
- Malika V Kashyap
is the founder of Border & Fall, which created the digital anthology called The Sari Series
"If you're wondering about the adaptability of the sari, there's no need to pontificate. You just need to look at the streets of India. The sari is alive and kicking, women are riding motorcycles, building houses and doing anything and everything in them. Millions are going about their daily lives in it. The sari is something that we are passive about, by and large, so this is an opportunity to acknowledge it as part of our national identity and make it a much larger thing so that it can be worn with much more freedom. I'm continuously amazed at the various sentimental touchpoints, the far-reaching emotional connect, that people have with it, whether they wear the sari or not. I can't think of any other garment that gives as much as the sari, both in terms of a starting point for a narrative of someone's life and as a thing that has meant something to them. Over the course of my work, the meaning of the sari to me has changed. It was always something I connected to mostly through memory — through my mother and my grandmother. But today, after having launched the sari project, and having worked in this space, it is now symbolic of something much larger. It's a synonym. My biggest takeaway, personally, is the idea of ownership of the sari and the fact that there is none — that's the beauty of it."
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