To Sari , With Love

As she listened to her mother pulling endless tales about the sixyarder out of her memory bank, writer Shampa Dhar-Kamath began her own affaire de cœur with the sari

My sister-in-law took my mother out one evening and bought her half a dozen salwar kameez. She had noticed that my mother, who had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease, was beginning to trip on her sari pleats, and wanted to make things easier for her. Pleased with the new purchases, my mother emerged from her bedroom that Sunday, wearing one of her new outfits. She looked young and charming, and everyone beamed at her. Everyone but my brother and me. We froze. We stared. We stuttered. It was as if we had encountered our mother wearing nothing but a smile.

It wasn’t that the mater didn’t look good in her kurta (she did!) or that we didn’t realise that her new choice of clothing was far more convenient for her (we did!). But, selfishly, our suddenly-16-again-and idiotic minds didn’t want our beautiful mother to step out in anything but one of her 500-and counting saris, as she had always done. Fortunately, my sons and sister-in-law showed more sense and sensitivity, and glared us siblings into submission. We went out to a late lunch, where my mother glowed in her new outfit.