Clichés regarding the handloom sari do more disservice than help An overwhelming response to last weeks column has triggered this one. Several readers diplomats,army men,society ladies and one teacher e-mailed commenting on one line: I wrote that I am one of several women in this country who is no big fan of the sari. Curiously,no one seemed to be offended by my list of what I perceived as inappropriate dressing at the splendid black-tie evening I was referring to. Id like to apologise ,but I have to admit that my stance on the sari is rather confused. I love it on other women,but I trudge rather un-elegantly in mine. I wore a beautiful Pallavi Jaikishan one when I got married ten years ago,but have worn it only once thereafter. A blood-red chiffon beauty from Tarun Tahiliani is so glamorous,but Ive worn it twice in the five years that Ive owned it. And Gaurav Guptas ruched saris with leather detailing were so trendy a few years ago,I had to own one too. I wore it once. That means Ive worn a sari maybe five or six times in the last decade,and never before that. A unique maroon Benarasi my husband bought from the temple city itself lies unworn,as do two lovely handloom Dhakai saris from Kolkata. My new years resolution was to wear more saris. Now that I am well into my thirties,Id like my wardrobe to evolve too. But were at the end of November already and my score card reads zero. Each time I pulled out a nice dressy sari,I changed my mind immediately for a chic cocktail dress or my fail-safe Saint Laurent trousers. I still have hopes from my socially busy December. My problem with the sari is shared by many women of my generation: if you havent worn it often enough,it isnt the most comfortable raiment in the wardrobe. And its difficult to pleat,unless a frequent wearer is lending a hand. But my issues with the drape dont end there: the sari has quickly become a symbol of cultural rooted-ness. If one wears an ethnic one,or a hand-loomed weave,one is simply more connected to their Indianness than others. In that,it is perceived as the new khadi: the clothes for the self-righteous intellectuals,pallbearers of a new India. Handloom saris are politically correct these days. Ethical fashion in India is largely about grassroots driven enterprises,regardless of how they fit in a modern setting. Zari is immediately scoffed at for its (sometimes) misconceptions about child labour. And cocktail chiffons dont count; they are for the deracinated as they dont have the rustic edge required for this sort of inverted snobbery. At a dinner for some journos last week,one woman showed up in an eye-catching emerald silk sari. She wouldnt speak to the rest of us and had an annoying air of condescension about her. It was almost as if she was to be taken seriously because she dressed the part and the rest of us were frivolous fashion floozies. But stereotypes are lazy. Clichés like these do more disservice to the sari than help its cause. Choosing to wear a sari (also over a salwar kameez) is a personal choice. Yes,it would be nice to wear ones traditional clothingmodernised or notto ensure its survival. But its clearly a fashion option,as is choosing not wearing one. If the sari is politicised,it will also polarise. After all,theres much more to being Indian than simply dressing the part. namratanow@gmail.com
