Amma’s graduation day saree

TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY KAMESWARI PADMANABHAN
Cochin, Kerala, India

My mother’s many cupboards boasted an enviable collection of sarees, collected over decades. They have dwindled in number in recent years: some having been discarded due to wear and tear, some having been given away to dear and near and a sizable number having been passed on to me. The memories of seeing them hanging neatly, side by side, an explosion of different shades and hues, the scent of cotton and silk and naphthalene balls hitting my nostrils as she opened the doors to her cupboards, still lingers.

Of all the Almirahs that housed the multitude of sarees, there was one which held my mother’s most special ones. It held the sarees that she had worn during her wedding ceremonies to my father in 1977, the ones given to her by her Guruji ; whom she met when she was battling a tumor and who has become a source of solace and wisdom over the last three decades, beautiful sarees given by close relatives and friends, and those given to her by grateful patients whom she had treated. But there was one benarasi saree, the color of baingan (aubergine), that my eyes would linger on, and when she gave it to me recently, I knew I had to understand why she chose to keep this one all these years.  Asking her questions through this saree gave me a glimpse of the life she had led before she had me, before she married my father, back when she was a young adult, her life stretching out before her. The process was emotional for both of us.

This Saree was bought by my mother in 1969, for her graduation day from Kasturba Medical College. It was a pivotal moment for my mother in many ways. Having joined a college which was filled with the children of the well-heeled and well-traveled, her Palakkad and sheltered roots did her little favour. But the next five years would mold her into a confident, English-speaking, young doctor through a series of lessons and hard learnings. This called for a grand saree when marking her exit from college and her entry into the real world. Her father agreed and gave her the money for buying herself the saree she wanted, which as it turns out was Rs.70 ( as remembered by my mother) from one of the premier saree shops in Mangalore in 1969. She went along with a classmate who was herself a fan of sarees, commenting and opining on what would look good on my mother. My mother says she had been looking for a Brinjal- purple colour but wasn’t sure how it would look against her skin tone. When she did try this on in the shop, however, it was a no-brainer because she said she thought she looked and felt ‘great’, compared to how she had felt when trying on others. She did up her hair and wore make-up, which was a touch of lipstick, and proceeded to have a fabulous time. 

Now in my possession, sitting in my wooden cupboard in Cochin, that I had had specially made to house all of the sarees given to me, the aubergine coloured pure silk saree measures 5.5 metres and is rectangular in shape. The Gold Zari floral Buttas on the body are in a brick-repeat or alternating pattern which have been placed one by one by hand, with the Gold zari at the borders being a mix of Floral and Paisley with a thin leafy geometric outer border. The pallu is filled with a mix of gold zari patterns of floral and leafy with tiny dots filling up the space between the flora, again with a thin leafy geometric outer border. When one looks closely, the body and the pallu have been woven separately and attached together, a technique used before the prolific use of power-looms. 

The Saree, although delicate, is still in the best condition, considering the years it has been in existence, having been worn only a few times. It is a testament to the expert weaving done all these decades back with no rips or tears. With the years, the colour has dulled a slight bit on the zari , turning into a shade of antique gold. The blouse has been lost to time unfortunately and I am on the hunt for one appropriate enough for this rare shade of Brinjal. After it has been passed to me, I have not had occasion to wear it, but hope to soon. Till then, it has pride of place in my cupboard along with my own sarees which I hold dear to my heart and the myriad others my mother has passed on to me.

Benarasi sarees have been around for centuries with its popularity soaring during the Mughal era when Mughal creative processes and silk weaving came into the picture, marrying Benarasi craftsmanship with Mughal artistic influences. Woven with pure silk and gold or silver threads, Benarasi sarees became a palette for a multitude of intricate motifs ranging from flora, fauna, paisley, latticework, faces. They quickly became prized possessions, and the type has evolved over the years, with different materials and motifs , yet still holding its position as one of the best choices for occasions ranging from bridal functions to just a Tuesday.  Considering how integral the Benarasi saree is to Indian culture, it is no wonder my mother, who comes from a family of Kanjivaram lovers, chose this for her graduation. Almost as a marker of her evolution and her youthful curiosity.

The sarees I have inherited have special meaning to me as they have become points of connection to the person my mother was at various points in her life. Over the years, her tastes and preferences changed, which showed in all areas of her life and even in the sarees she picked. However, this saree holds particular meaning for me, as it gives a glimpse of the person she became through her education. Someone who knew she could do good things, maybe even great things, if she set her mind to it. Which she did.

When my mother looks at this saree now, her hands worn by time and life, she tells me she could have never envisioned the life she ended up living for the next five decades, full of twists and turns, comedy and tragedy and the saree had been a good choice for the life she had hoped to live. My mother was born in her ancestral house in the small town of Kanjikode which lies East to Palakkad in Kerala on 17th August 1944 into a Tamil-Iyer Brahmin Family which had holdings in Palakkad and surrounding areas. Her parents named her Vijayalakshmy, maintaining tradition by naming her one of the many monikers of Goddess Lakshmi. As a female child, in accordance to the times then, there was not much expected in terms of an education or a career. But being a strong willed and sometimes extremely obstinate child, she laid out a path for herself which made sense to her, if not to others and followed through. She tells me, although it was not common to see many women go for higher education, her inspiration to become a doctor lay with their family physician. A robust lady who would come home with a stethoscope around her neck and a driver walking behind her with a large briefcase filled with various instruments. My mother, in her innocent mind, thought that the driver was an automatic addition that would come with becoming a doctor. It was not easy to convince her family of what she wanted to do but although her father did not let her take the speciality of her choice then, she tells me that time lets her know that she made the right choice in taking Obstetrics and Gynaecology.  She went on to establish the first IVF center in the state of Kerala and possibly no one else I know has derived true and complete professional satisfaction like she has.

This Saree symbolizes to me the confidence in her capabilities, the utter joy she felt in being herself and the youthful idealism we all have. I hope to one day, very soon, wear this special garment, and catch a glimpse of a young woman, on the cusp of a great life, yet to be lived.