A not so sorry sari story

Attending a wedding in India, which I did this past December, was awesome for many reasons one of which was this: not only older women but most of the younger women too were wrapped in saris.
Silk saris.
In a mind-blowing array of colors of designs.
No two saris looked the same.
And every woman seemed to delight in the sari that she was wearing.

Right from a young age, I was impressed with the beauty of the sari.  I had no idea about the differences that the elders talked about: Kanchipuram silk versus Benares silk, for instance.  All I knew was that saris were gorgeous and that I liked some more than others.  It was exciting when I was asked for my opinions on the saris and I was always willing to jump in with my comments on the color scheme, the pattern, the "border," and whether it will look good for that particular woman.  I think it is a surprise that I never had even the faintest interest in wrapping myself in one! Thankfully ;)

Of course, there was no equivalent for the males, whose traditional outfits at weddings was nothing but a white veshti and an angavastram.

No Angavastram though! ;)

Thus, it is no surprise that I could sympathize with Sashi Tharoor's lament that women were ditching the traditional saris.   Of course, the intellectual me also felt right away that it was atrocious for Tharoor to complain about the loss of traditions after his own life far, far away from the traditions.  But, I suppose people like us will always talk and write about the rapid changes that lead to the tossing overboard of traditional practices--even saris.  Why, even the half-saris! ;)

As women ditch the traditional saris, the industry that once employed hundreds of thousands has been rapidly changing as well.  In the place of human hands weaving those silk threads into colorful patterns that the silk saris become, machines have taken over.  The artisan and artistic craft is dying.  While Kanchipuram silk continues to flourish for various reasons, Benares silk is long past its glory days.  It is now being sustained in ways that makes this sari-fan jump with joy:

The jobs of the Varanasi weavers, once estimated at a half million men, may have been fading out back then, but on a trip in late 2013 I discovered that efforts were underway by two companies — the socially conscious New York fashion label Maiyet and the Mumbai chain Taj Hotels Resorts and Palaces — to reinvigorate the ancient skill by employing the weavers and inviting tourists to visit them as they work. About 700 people have taken Maiyet’s tour; more than 650 have gone on Taj’s.

Hurrah for capitalism and the profit motive!

The fashion line’s work in Varanasi got the attention of David Adjaye, a star British architect whose international works include the design of the Smithsonian National Museum of African-American History and Culture in Washington. Mr. Adjaye is now designing Maiyet’s building for the weavers, which is to be completed in 2016.
Meanwhile, Taj had started resurrecting the desolate village of Sarai Mohana, five miles from Varanasi, which has a large concentration of weavers. Taj’s plan was to have the weavers make saris for its employees and guests. Since then, the village has been turned into something of a tourist attraction.

How awesome!  

For centuries Varanasi was a hub for the silk trade. The gossamer fabric, woven by hand on long wooden looms, is recognizable to aficionados by its refined feel, substantial weight and audible rustle. ...
Weaving in India dates to 500 B.C. and flourished during the Mughal period from the early 16th to mid-18th centuries. Since Islam traditionally forbids the images of people and animals, weavers created floral brocades for saris and scarves, much like the gold flower pattern on mine.
Weavers, nearly all men, pass down their skills to their sons or male relatives. But their trade has been shaken over the last few decades as power looms offer a cheaper and faster way to produce the same goods, six to 12 meters of material a day, depending on the design; it can take a weaver weeks to create the same amount. This technology left many of the artisans facing starvation and selling the wood from their looms for firewood.

Yes, it is that old tale of technology condemning artisans to starvation. The Luddites found out years ago as the Industrial Revolution unfolded in England that fighting the change is hopeless. Adapt or die.  It was literally the death of one weaver that, ironically, led the hotel chain to employ some:

It was this plight that in 2005 caught the attention of Ratna Krishnakumar, the wife of R.K. Krishnakumar, who was at the time the vice chairman of Indian Hotels Company Limited, of which Taj is a part.
“I had heard about how bad the situation was for these weavers, but the final clinching point came when I was watching the evening news and heard about a weaver in his 30s who had died from overselling his blood to feed his family,” she said in a telephone interview from her Mumbai home.
Mrs. Krishnakumar, 66, came up with the idea of tapping the men to make the saris for Taj’s female front-office staff. The weavers now make saris for 550 women who work at 11 of Taj’s 114 hotels in India.

Mrs. Krishnakumar deserves high praise,don't you think so too?

The project started in 2008 with a dozen weavers but now has more than 40. Mr. Ramrakhiani said that they have woven more than 1,000 saris for the hotel employees. Another group of 12 to 15 master weavers creates saris that are sold at 15 of the hotel’s gift boutiques, including at its properties in New Delhi and London.
Like Mrs. Krishnakumar of Taj, Maiyet’s co-founder and chief executive, Paul van Zyl, was aware of weavers’ problems.
“We naturally hit on Varanasi when we were looking for skilled weavers,” said Mr. van Zyl, 44, the former executive secretary of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of South Africa, which was set up to deal with aftereffects of apartheid. The high-end line that he started is now available at 50 retailers worldwide, including Barneys New York.

If only the business world can always look a little beyond it's narrow and short-term interests--we will all then be collectively much better off.

The silk sari and the vegetarian. Life's another contradiction!

My parents' home in Chennai, for all its quiet ambiance inside, is right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the city.  A metaphorical stone throw away are stores in plenty that sell two important must-have in that culture: gold jewelry and silk saris.  Of course, there is that ultimate combination of silk saris with gold lamé!

Every time I visit Chennai, I never cease to be amazed at the huge crowds at every one of those stores.  Understandable, given that every major celebration involve these two.  A wedding preparation, for instance, includes shopping for quite a few silk saris.  Typically, women wait for such occasions to drape themselves in silk saris, and men too sometimes wear silk shirts and veshtis.

But, how kosher is it for vegetarians to wear silk?

What is the connection between the two?  Let me first explain the question.

The philosophical, ethical issues related to killing animals is why people choose to be vegetarians.  (And people like me, who occasionally eat that steak or chicken, end up worrying even more about whether that "non-veg" evening was worth the kill!)

Silk, too, involves killing.

The caterpillars feed on tasty mulberry leaves and fatten themselves up so that they can spin a cocoon around themselves waiting for that magical metamorphosis into a moth.

If life is what happens when we are busily planning for it, in the case of these caterpillars, death is what happens as they are preparing for the metamorphosis.

And that death happens in a crude manner.  A systematic killing as the cocoons get dumped into boiling water.  There is an old story of how this began:

According to legend, 5,000 years ago Chinese Empress Xi Ling-Shi discovered silk when a silkworm cocoon fell into her hot cup of tea. She unraveled the strange cocoon and, wrapping the thread around her finger, soon realized what an exquisite cloth it would make. Thus the history of one of the world's most coveted fabrics began.

From that killing we derive the silk fiber that then goes through metamorphosis of various types to become the silk garments.

So, the question then remains: if a vegetarian food habit is because of concerns over killing animals, then shouldn't that same yardstick lead those vegetarian shoppers to stay away from the silk stores?  The vegetarian who might be aghast at the idea that there are places where the silkworm is a part of the cuisine will usually find it acceptable to buy silk?

Geographically, perhaps the ultimate contradiction is with the city of Kanchipuram.  With its rich religious history of Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism--all the three preaching non-violence in so many ways and advocating against the killing of animals--the same city is also known for its silk saris.  The silk coming from killing caterpillars in their cocoons.

We humans are bundles of contradiction.  If we were all directed to make consistent our approaches to various aspects of life, I bet that almost all of us will give up within the first minute of our attempts given the gazillion inconsistencies that our lives are all about.

Three times the excitement: three girls in half-saris :)

A few years ago, I asked my sister and her daughter a very simple question: "Do girls wear half-saris anymore?"

I would never have imagined the response I got: I was laughed out.  The niece just couldn't stop laughing, and commented that my memories of India were stuck in some prehistoric times.

Even after that unintentionally funny episode, I find it hard to imagine Tamil Nadu's teenage girls not wearing half-saris.  It will be like the French (men, too) without the capris. Or, the US without, oh wait, bad example :)

Back in my high school days, my girl classmates had a choice between wearing half-saris or churidars.  I am pretty confident about this, my selective amnesia notwithstanding.  I suppose I have always had a soft corner for the half-saris :)

Whenever we went to grandma's homes, of course, the young women in those small towns wore the  traditional half-saris.  No question of churidars.  Thirty years later, churidars have invaded even the remotest villages of Tamil Nadu.

Thus, I had given up this whole half-sari thing after I became the punchline myself. 

And then it happened. 

I was wandering about one evening here in Chennai, when I saw a couple of boys wearing the traditional white dhotis, but with backpacks across their shoulders.  Pretty interesting juxtaposition, I thought. 

Two other boys, wearing shorts, were a couple of steps behind, and it seemed like the four were a group.  They were talking and playing, while walking. 

I observe my own sense of whether or not it will be kosher to take photos of people in public places.  Even though being out in common areas means that we give up privacy, I feel odd taking photos of strangers like this.  Especially when they are not adults.

So, I stood at the road's edge and let them pass me.  I then clicked from behind; after all, my interest was only in this interplay between tradition and modernity.

Well, as I watched them pass, I saw three girls only a few steps behind those boys, and these girls were wearing half-sari school uniforms. 

How exciting! 

(Though, the school could have gone for some other better color combination!)

Again, I let the girls pass me, and then I quickly clicked.

Only later when I reviewed that shot did I notice the young girl in a pinafore uniform, and the dhoti-clad boy also in the same frame.  Makes it all the more an excitingly complex set of images.

Anyway, the half-sari is alive, after all!

Should I update my niece? :)

It was not a sari that the White House gate-crasher wore

So, it was quite a breach of security, eh, at the White House!
I heard a couple of reporters describe that the female of the duo was attired in a sari.

Well, technically that is not a sari.  She is wearing what is referred to as a "lengha" or a "ghagra choli."
(Editor: do you really know what you are talking about? Hey, when has that ever stopped me?)

As this detailed explanation of the lengha points out, it seems to capture the fashion spotlight quite a bit.
More photos/models here.

So, what is the big deal, you ask?  The answers are in this book; actually in the title!