Yogan Devan
I HAVE an undying love affair with the sari, which was ignited by my mother. For most of her life, my mother wore a sari from dawn to dusk, at home and on all outings. Hence, for me, the sari has epitomised my mother - and all that is loving, caring and compassionate.
More than six decades later, my relationship with the 6m of cloth is as strong as ever - never mind that this alluring garment has traded its popularity for Western dress and other Eastern costumes. This includes the punjabi, lehenga and salwar kameez - which are reputedly easier to manage.
In Indian diaspora throughout the world, and even in India where the sari originated, fewer women are wearing it as everyday wear.
Yet the sari is arguably one of the oldest forms of apparel known to humankind - more than 5000 years old - with references of it dating back to the Vedas, as well as in records from the Indus Valley civilisation.
Like a well-aged single malt whiskey that is only savoured to celebrate a momentous occurrence, the sari still holds its place as a symbol of tradition and culture, donned on special occasions. It can turn any woman into a lady, the epitome of grace.
Fortunately for me, I have frequent trysts with the sari. My wife wears it at least once a week, and my daughter has also inherited an appreciation for the timeless beauty of this unique drape. How many thousands of rupees have I parted with in T Nagar, Chennai - but at least it’s not in vain.
Just as I would watch my mother do many years ago, I now watch my other half reach over to the carefully folded stacks of cloth in a special part of her closet, and make a selection. What will it be today? Blue, grey, burgundy or green? There is a purple one that has had its fair share of funeral outings. Silk or cotton? Then the task of locating the matching blouse.
I can recall there was a time in South Africa when most Indian women would only be seen outside their homes in a sari. It was a staple outfit.
In those days, you could bet your bottom dollar that if an Indian woman of marriageable age or older was in a Western outfit, she probably belonged to the Christian faith. There was a misinformed, ignorant and prejudiced belief that the sari was a Hindu garment.
Fortunately, there have been many enlightened souls who did not allow religious bigotry to dictate their choice of garments and allowed the sari to boast its cultural diversity.
Fatima Meer, the writer, academic, screenwriter, prominent anti-apartheid activist and devout Muslim, was hardly seen in public in any garment other than a sari.
I remember how Zubie Seedat, a founder member of the Women’s Cultural Group, one of the first female Indian lawyers in Durban, and also a firm adherent of the Islamic faith, always carried herself with dignity, decorum and aplomb in her range of beautiful saris.
Himat Jeevan, of Jayshrees-Rivaz fashion stores, who runs a family business that has traded in saris for decades, said he could clearly recall when hundreds of bales of saris would be taken off ships each month at the Durban Harbour. Then, there were more than two dozen stores such as Peekays, Popatlall Kara, Choonilal Brothers, Jayshrees, Shrimatis, Enens, Narans, Sunitas and SK Naidoo, all enjoying a fair slice of the sari business.
Himat said nowadays only a few boxes of saris were imported by a handful of dealers and these were mostly high-end items to be worn on select days and occasions.
However, he is confident that the sari will one day have a revival locally, when the younger generation wakes up to the versatility of it.
Already pre-draped saris - where pleats and pallus are pre-stitched - are defining modern fashion, especially for the younger set. Traditional saris are being given a new look by adding jackets and capes - a styling previously used by Indian’s maharanis.
Himat said younger women were even spicing up the sari with a Western twist - pairing it with pants, skirts, palazzos, and even having pockets and belts. It would appear that, he said, the idea today is to show more skin than conceal the body. But, he adds, that the classic sari will still remain in demand and trend for ever.
Talking of the pallu, which in Hindi means the free end of a sari worn over the shoulder - for me, the pallu (mundhanai in Tamil) was like a second umbilical cord.
In the early 1960s, I would accompany my mother to Durban’s Warwick Avenue and Victoria Street markets, always clutching at the pallu lest I got separated from her in the jostling crowds.
I would be teased for this by my mother’s friends but I did not care - the pallu was my lifeline and linked me to my dear mother.
For a child, the pallu became the physical embodiment of a mother’s love, a love it could literally take hold of.
The pallu was used to wipe a child’s tears.
A mother’s lap became a mattress for a sleeping child and the pallu was the warm and cosy cover.
The child held on to its mother’s pallu and learnt to walk.
My mother, like so many mothers in her time, had multiple uses for the pallu.
She used it to wipe sweat off her forehead on a summer’s day, as she cleaned trotters or sheep head with red hot irons. She used the pallu like a fan in a steaming wedding hall - or as a shawl when it was cold.
The pallu would also be used as a potholder for removing hot saucepans from the stove. If my mother happened to stroll through the garden and noticed that the double beans or pigeon peas (toor dhall) were ready for the picking, she would carry the vegetables back to the kitchen in the pallu.
The pallu was also used to gather the shells of Christmas nuts during gatherings in our family lounge.
I don’t think there can be another piece of garment that can compete with the sari pallu, that can serve so many purposes. More than being sheer woven magic, the pallu is also the giver of endless love.
Devan is a media consultant and social commentator. Share your comments with him at [email protected]
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