Day 82. She was for me a strand of red corals that my mother has always treasured and which I have worn on a couple of occasions. She was for me a letter she wrote to my mother when she lost my father and another she wrote at the time of my wedding, with an alpana-like doodle at the end. She was for me a frantic hunt for a fresco on a hot and humid afternoon in Santiniketan. I never saw her. For me, she lived in the many black and white photographs, and a few more recent ones in colour, from the family album and the many stories I heard about her from Ma and her siblings. The closest I got to seeing her was on a screen projection that was part of a TV show… twice removed, and yet those few minutes made her existence strangely real in my life. I could hear my grandmother’s voice in her voice. If I shut my eyes and didn’t look, I just wouldn’t know. From an enigma, she suddenly turned into a real-life character for me. I never met her and yet when news arrived that she was no more, I felt a strange emptiness. It was a dying of hope. We had lost her forever. All that remained was a strand of red corals she had gifted my mother on her wedding and a doodle in a letter.
And then magic happened. This sari arrived. This sari that belonged to her. And once again she came alive in its folds, in the softness of its drape. As I held the sari in my hands, I tried to imagine her… tall, elegant, dignified… wearing it.
Who said Santa Claus doesn’t exist? This sari is proof that he does. The one who sent me this sari with all his love has been no less than a Santa for me. If not for him, Ma and I would never have been able to attend my dearest cousin’s wedding. The date coincided with my college exams, which I couldn’t afford to miss. And the train journey from Calcutta to Mumbai took 36 hours (those were pre-Duronto days), so there was no chance of making it for the reception either. The moment Santa knew, he booked flight tickets for us to be in Mumbai in time for the reception. He is a master of surprises, too, and there are at least two weddings in the family (my Ma’s and my cousin’s) where he had everyone convinced that he would not be able to attend under any circumstances, only to turn up at the last moment. The only complain I have against him: he didn’t repeat it for my wedding. Ma and I had kept hoping that he would spring a surprise but we were disappointed. But he has more than made up for if by sending me this beautiful sari rich in memories and love and history, too. This one’s for you Santa!
The sari is printed tussar. The block print, inspired by Baluchari motifs, was designed at Kabari – the earliest of Bengali designers. It was an organisation of three – Ruby Palchoudhuri, Paromita Vishwanathan and Gostho Kumar – aimed at reviving and popularising traditional Bengali hairstyles (Kabari means khopa or jura), motifs and prints. They were also the pioneers of professional bridal makeup with Gostho Kumar known for his intricate chandan art (traditionally, Bengali brides have intricate designs drawn on their forehead with sandalwood paste as part of the get-up).
The silver earrings I wore today were originally Ma’s, a gift from my aunt. But Ma stopped wearing danglers long back and gave them to me. I have only seen her wearing these in photographs of her at my uncle (her elder brother’s wedding). The khopar kanta was a gift to me from my mother-in-law and the pendant from me to my sister-in-law. The bangles are hers too.
History of the sari courtesy Ma Jhulan Bhattacharya