Notes to self

I love this grey sari that belongs to my mum. It has a black border and two thin lines of zari in the border. It is, I suppose, forty years old now. I used to adore it as a child and would beg mum to wear it. Now I am glad she did not wear it that much, cause it is still in perfect condition, and I get to wear it. I love it so much that I rarely wear it, of course. I am not as careful as my mum. I have already torn some of her old saris (the yellow with black border one for example. Then I forgot I had torn it and wore it again at some function, and then had to cover the tear up with my pallu and look dorkier than usual. gah).

This weekend, I was telling mum on the phone about a function I had to attend, and she promptly said 'Wear that sari' I replied, as usual, 'No, I might tear it' but she assured me it would be ok, it can stitched if torn, its perfect for the occasion etc. So I went for it. Along with my black Orissa blouse. The blouse is new, but thankfully, did not colour me black, unlike its maroon counterpart.

It felt very awesome to even unfold the sari. There is something in these old saris that just don't happen in the new ones. Of course, as I continue to wear my wedding saris, I find that they are aging well as well. But this one is just spectacular. At least to me. Its really simple, is in my favourite combination of colours, reminds me of a long ago, young, enthusiastic woman who I used to refuse to be separated from, is really easy to wear, and Oh I just cannot stop about it.

I felt so happy with it that I wore it the entire day nearly, up until five in the evening when I changed into basketball gear.

But the problem was that despite the sari, the jasmine flowers, big bindi, bangles (just one on each hand), some lady walked up to me and, get this, pinched my cheeks. I mean, please, a bit much don't you say. Of course, since I don't wear make-up (at all), it was no big deal but still... I don't know why I elicit such weird reactions from strangers. Gah.