Saris and Magic...

These last few weeks the sadness has been more present. It could be because we have ushered in another year without her. Or it could be because my birthday is around the corner. I hate turning older without my daughter. It is unnatural. Like everything else in my life. I hate to enjoy food without her. But I am a foodie, like her. So, every meal I have, I invite her to share it with me. Every trip, every film that she would have enjoyed, the new music from her favourite artists, a new top that she would have liked, my new hair-styler, that new perfume… I share everything with her. It enables me to enjoy these things without the joy of them curdling in me. Mostly I succeed.

To stay busy and keep the sad thoughts at bay, I decided to sort through my saris and separate those that can be given away. I set aside the ones I wear once in a while. There were a few that I kept aside for sentimental reasons – a sari that belonged to my grandmother, another that belonged to an aunt, the first sari that I ever wore that originally belonged to my mom. And then I came to this beautiful sheer, light green sari with delicate embroidery that I had worn in my younger, slimmer days. I had kept it aside for Sakshi. She used to say that when she was older, she would dig into my sari collection for special occasions. I placed the green sari safely in its pouch and kept it back in the wardrobe along with all my other sentimental saris.

I have taken to wearing my saris more often. Not just for special occasions but for a lunch at a friend’s place or a visit to the clinic. I love the way I feel in my cherished handloom and cotton saris. I also love the way people respond to them! Saris spread joy. Maybe because in the hurly burly of life, it takes more effort to drape one and it forces you to pause, slow down and pay attention. You feel different in a sari – more luxurious and feminine… lilting in the breeze. And you reflect that, and the world reflects it back.

I used to keep some of these saris safe for Sakshi. But now I wear them. I use them up. That is the point of it all, right? Use yourself up.

The act of sorting my saris had an uplifting effect on my spirits. Not just because… saris. But because of a particular sari. It was gifted to me by a dear friend. It has yellow cabs (Bengalis will recognize their famous peeli taxi) woven on to it. ‘Yellow cars’ is a game that Sakshi and I used to play on our innumerable rides to the hospital and back. The one who spotted the most number of yellow cars was the winner. After her passing, it is a rare day when I don’t spot a yellow car*. On some days I spot as many as 16 yellow cars. Which ever country I visit, I spot at least one yellow car. On a visit to Mauritius I spotted 21 yellow cars during a drive. I consider yellow cars a sign from Sakshi to me. My friend said to me, “I felt that Sakshi had inspired the designer and the artisan to create this sari just for you.”

This reminds me of another sari that I consider a gift from Sakshi. It was a year after Sakshi’s passing and I was travelling to India. I was going to be there for a month. I asked Sakshi to send me a sign that she was with me. And I then randomly decided that I wanted a peacock feather as my sign and that I wanted it while I was in India and ideally, I want it in my hands. I then added the caveat that images of Krishna with the peacock feather and the feather that was kept in the puja nook in my in-law’s home will not do. Throughout my India trip, I kept my eyes peeled and I came across a couple of peacock and peacock feather references, images and motifs. But they did not sit right in my heart.

It was now my last day in India as I was flying out early next morning. That evening, we were visited by a distant relative who I was meeting for the first time. She gifted my sister-in-law and me Kerala style saris. Uma received her sari first and I saw that her sari had those golden peacock motifs on the border and I thought, “oh no, Uma has my sari.” And then I looked down at what the relative had placed in my hands.

This is the sari. All the peacock feathers I want in my hands.

These moments of magic (and I have had so many) keep me afloat. I feel the universe has my back. I know some of you are shaking your head and saying, ‘coincidence.’

Maybe.

But then again, maybe not.

Despite all the sadness and despair, life is magical, and I have experienced it.

---

* Dubai, where I am based at present, doesn’t have yellow cabs. But it has some of the most amazing yellow cars imaginable. A few months after Sakshi’s passing, someone abandoned a butter yellow Beetle in our building balcony. I can see it clearly from my balcony.