{"id":420,"date":"2017-05-11T05:27:39","date_gmt":"2017-05-11T05:27:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/museumofmaterialmemory.com\/?p=420"},"modified":"2017-11-11T13:36:25","modified_gmt":"2017-11-11T08:06:25","slug":"six-yards-of-elegance","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/museumofmaterialmemory.com\/six-yards-of-elegance\/","title":{"rendered":"Six yards of elegance"},"content":{"rendered":"

TEXT AND PHOTOS\u00a0BY REVATI VAIDYA
\n<\/strong>Mumbai, India\u00a0<\/em>
\n<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Aai<\/em> tied her hair up in a bun, boiled some chicken, put the curry leaves in a pan to fry and hummed to Rekha on the radio. Within moments, the room was filled with spices, agarbatti<\/em>, memories and 70s Bollywood. I was talking to aaji<\/em> on the phone, and she said to me, \u201cMy paithani (sari) must be suffocating in the almirah<\/em>, why don’t you take it out and have a look at it. See Reva, you’ll also have to wear the same sari and pass it on to your daughter at the occasion of her marriage.\u201d I said nothing, I was giggling. I’m sure aaji <\/em>heard me smiling though the phone.<\/span><\/p>\n

I locked the room and took out the sari, which hung within air and dust in baba’<\/em>s most loved old aged almirah<\/em>. Spun in pure cotton and fiercely tangerine in colour, its gold brocade border glistened in the morning light. I carried it out to the verandah with quiet baby steps. There it was, in all it’s glory. My forefinger touched it’s softness, my hands grazing across the perfection, it signified our culture and the traditions we passed on with such immense love. The traditions unknowingly inherited from our ancestors. I spent inordinate amount of time just staring at the beauty.<\/span><\/p>\n