Day 49 This was meant to be my sari 15. Or may be not.
I had been speaking to Mimi (my aunt) over phone, when she asked me to wear a red sari the next day. Immediately, this sari sprung to mind. I had been seeing a lot of chiffon posts on the saree pact and that too made me want to wear this sari. But as I rummaged through my wardrobe, I couldn’t find it. I had brought almost my entire wardrobe down when I heard a voice (my Ma’s) telling me sheepishly: “Is this the one you are looking for?” And there it was in her hand. That is when I remembered that when I wore the sari last winter, I had spotted a tiny hole. And so I had given the sari to Ma to get it darned lest the hole get any bigger. It had somehow slipped her mind.
The next day I wore a different red sari and sent this one off to the laundry. Then the wait began for the sari to return. Every few days, Ma or I would rush the lady at the shop. Finally, after a few weeks, the sari was home. Darned, washed and the fall replaced. But then emerged another hurdle. I realised all my red blouses were in dire straits. I had to get a new one made. The blouse too arrived a few days ago and since then I have been dilly-dallying.
But not today. Today, my hand reached for this red printed chiffon as if it had a mind of its own. And my heart travelled thousands of miles away to one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. Elegant, graceful and a lady with exquisite taste. Also, a most accomplished cook whose magic with the wok and ladle I have been fortunate to savour and even tried a few recipes learnt from her.
The last time I saw her she had been asleep. Sleeping like a baby.
Last night, listening to a brief audio clip someone shared, I could imagine that twinkle in her eye as she shared an anecdote from her student days. For those few seconds, she was with me.
This afternoon, as I wore her sari, it took me back to a time I had held her hand. It was an afternoon many years ago, she had to get a few odd jobs done and I was accompanying her. Years of staying away from the city had made her a bit nervous of Calcutta traffic. As we were about to cross a road, she reached out and held on to me. I was a bit surprised — I always knew her as being very confident and independent, she even drove till a few years ago — but slowed down and held her hand.
I wish I could hold her hand once again. Feel that soft touch once again, even if for a moment.