If
you’re someone who wears saris on and off, you’ve almost certainly heard that
question. And chances are, you’ve answered it quickly with a ‘good reason’,
e.g., I’ve to attend a wedding. / There’s a puja in my cousin’s house. / It’s
sari-day in office. / I have a lecture to deliver. / There’s a meeting with
some (stuffy?) bigwigs. Or the latest legit one – for the #100sareepact. Some
people, sometimes, say, “No particular reason. I just felt like wearing one.
Just like that.” And get puzzled reactions.
You’ve
also surely come across women (perhaps you are one of them yourself!) who make
urgent pre-event enquiries among friends about who all will wear saris, in
fact, if anyone is going to wear a sari or not, to ensure that they aren’t
alone or in a minority as sari-wearers.
It
would seem that the women of today are sweeping saris off to the sides of their
wardrobes and their lives, lest people get the impression that they may actually
wear them for pleasure, and be at ease in them. Things seem to have reached a
point where a woman who chooses to wear a sari, and doesn’t declare it a chore
to some degree, opens the door to suspicion as not very independent/not very
modern.
Saris
have become something of a symbol of the oppression of women, and true enough,
they may impose certain limits on movement, and may be heavier to bear than
some other garments. A few questions leap to mind: How many of us are engaging
in the full range of motion even in non-sari attire? Don’t pencil skirts,
stilettos, or tight tops restrict range of movement? Don’t many carry off
(literally) heavy jackets, boots and leather garments without breaking a sweat?
The
widely accepted explanation for the hesitation to wear saris is that they are
not comfortable. At least not as much as tight jeans and synthetic tops on a
hot day, or narrow high-heeled footwear, apparently. And draping them needs
skill, and/or practice, hence the legitimacy of the excuse ‘I’m not used to
them’. We undertake several learning activities, such as driving, which take a
lot of ‘getting used to’ with attendant (ideally reducing) risks during the
process. Sari-draping is unlikely to pose as many risks, or even need as much
attention for as long.
We are
fast becoming (if we haven’t already become) a society that curbs recourse to
traditional ways for people with professions to progressive thinking. You are
exercising choice if you wear skinny jeans, or hot pants, or palazzos, or
kurtis, or spaghetti-strapped tops, or Pakistani-style parallel pants trimmed
with lace, but not if you pick a sari and an un‘worked’ blouse to go with it.
The
lives that women lead today call for multiple roles, skills, and naturally, a
variety of outfits for a variety of activities. No single type of outfit could
do for everything, even putting aside the certainty that the wearer and viewers
alike would get bored out of their skulls with one type of outfit forever. So,
a wide range of outfits it is, or should be. And that range could easily
include saris, without any hesitation or apology.
Isn’t
one of the greatest advantages of being an (unoppressed) Indian the easy access
to the wealth of fabric and sartorial styles that the place has nurtured over
the centuries? And isn’t the sari a star player in that wealth? Why not embrace
that huge variety, try a few saris, ‘get used to it’, and evaluate them then
rather than a priori based on
received notions of comfort and choice?
To do:
Observers:
Ditch the question ‘How come you’re in a sari?’, and replace it with remarks
(if compliments) on the outfit or the wearer.
Sari-wearers:
If you’re asked this question, either don’t bother to answer it, or inform the
asker that you prefer it to going nude in public.
