39/100. A bright and clear Sunday morning in the middle of a near-relentless spate of rain meant a perfect morning to sun my beauties. Once my sarees were nice and warm, it was then time to sort them into piles – my ‘done’ ones to be sent back to my mom’s and the others to be planned into place for the next two weeks or so.
My last Sunday as a 40-year-old, this. Since I was showing my sarees some much-needed love and attention, I decided to do the same for myself and mark it by oohing and aahing over my lovelies in an old-new saree that had been waiting in my wardrobe for about three and a half years. A dark mulberry coloured handloom cotton with a red, gold and green chevron design woven border, this was bought for less than a song from a handloom fair.
I lingered over some old friends, remembering the stories their folds held. And I fingered the fabric of some of my unworn sarees – most old-new and a few new-new – wondering about the memories they and I would make together. Once again, I noted how precious were the sarees that made me smile. And how priceless as well the sarees that spoke of sadness. A perfect metaphor for our experiences, almost. However many mistakes we might have made in our lives and choices, I wonder if regret has any place in it? Aren’t our experiences that make us what we are? And, I would like to believe, time and unpleasant experiences might take away our years, our innocence, our naiveté as well, only to leave us richer. With more to treasure and more heart to cherish….