Watching ma dress up was my favourite memory as a child. There was a meticulous order with which she conducted it – first the underskirt and blouse, and on cue I would bring her, her heels. She would slip into them with ease and proceed to highlight her best features with make-up. I loved her ritualistic movements, the measured fold of her pleats, and the pallav that she would throw back so casually. It was through her that I was mesmerised by the sari, so this post by The Soup was pretty close to home.
They write ‘the first sari worn by a woman is one that is passed down from her mother.’ Inheriting your mother’s sari is a rite of passage for a young woman and these women talk about the sentiment of inheritance.
It’s years of fights and laughter and nine yards of memories that are hidden in the drape of a sari, a story that only you know, and your mother.