How to Drape a Sari

Image from here

Also on the Huffington Post

Women have engaged in the act of draping ever since the concept of clothing captured the imagination of Neanderthal women. And yet, some of us are destined to spend hours draping a sari. 

Those who wear a sari on a regular basis can hardly comprehend the dilemma of an occasional sari enthusiast. The cosmic dice never falls in your favor every time you are late for a wedding. All too often, you are rendered pathetic when it comes to length of the pallav, the symmetry of the pleats, or the fall of the border. Total helplessness. 
That said, several variables can dampen the enthusiasm of an occasional sari aficionado. The weather is one of them. The time allotted to drape a sari is another. As is a husband who can’t tell between a Georgette and a Crepe.
So, I am warming to the task of wearing a sari for a wedding and debating serious issues – like which sari to wear, which blouse will fit and what jewelry will match. That is when the husband starts it all. Subtly, of course. “We’ll take an hour to reach. The traffic is bad.” In short, hurry up. 

I struggle with the damned safety pin that refuses to dive in the folds of a Kanjeewaram. When I tuck in the pleats, the outcome does nothing to flatter my month long attempt to reign in my belly. Moreover, my back hurts after failed attempts to pin the pallav right. To add to the misery, the men folk don their suit and are ready in a jiffy. As drops of sweat begin to play with the make-up, I overhear the son, “Dad, why do you think women haven’t learnt the art of wearing a sari, in like, say thousand years? Isn’t it against evolution?”
This is when I’ve lost it. The husband comprehends the gravity of the situation and plays pantomime with the son. I notice their 'wink-wink, say-no-more' moment in the mirror. 

Finally when we reach the venue, we are the first to arrive. The anger simmers. As guests begin to arrive in chiffons, I wonder if silk was appropriate for the weather. Nonetheless, I try to ginger up. But when women know that they are not looking their best, they get entangled in weird emotions. 

As the venue reverberates with ‘Congratulations and celebrations, I want the world to know I’m happy as can be’, the silence between us deafening. The husband tries to warm up. “You look nice. Moreover, who remembers what you are wearing?”
He gets it when a cousin chimes in, “Wow, bhabhi. Love this beige sari you wore at my wedding.” Bingo. Perfect timing.
If he gets a glacial look, he totally deserves it. Because his expression is like 'what have I done now'? Also because he can happily wear the same suit for the engagement, wedding and reception and the universe will not notice. 

It gets worse when the videographer captures our cold war for posterity. There is something about videographers who act as if they are capturing Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s magnum opus. The shameless pervert in them can never miss an embarrassing moment. Like when you tucking your bra strap or adjusting the pleats. He will blind you with lights, trap you in a mesh of wires, shove his camera on your face and ensure that you drown in the embarrassment of your forced smile.

The trigger for writing this piece is the reflection that a sari means nothing until a woman lives in it. And revels in the joy of being a woman. She either looks her best, or doesn’t. It is about something that feels right. And drapes right. 
All said, women dress for themselves, and of course, fellow XX brigade. If women dressed for men, as the saying goes, they would just walk around naked at all times.