I hid behind my mom, clinging tightly to her sari, my twin sister, Tejasvi, right beside me. The bright yellow fabric seemed much more appealing to our three-year-old selves than the scary world beyond it.
“You don’t have to be on top of me, guys,” my mom told us, exasperated with our endless antics. “It’s just family here.”
We both said nothing and remained firmly behind her. The yellow shield we had in front of us was clearly the best place to hide behind, regardless of what our mom had to say about it.
That’s not the only childhood memory I have associated with saris. Saris have been woven through my life. The traditional Indian outfit is typically worn by adult women. My grandma wears them every day. Her closet is full of beautiful patterned fabrics of every color under the sun. My mom wears them for special occasions, too.
My grandma turned 80 in last March. We threw a big celebration at our temple, and hundreds of people came. She has run the local Hindu Sunday School for the past 40 years, so she knows a lot of people. It was a huge party with singing, dancing, good food, and joy all around. And it was my first time wearing a sari.
My twin sister, cousin and I all wanted to wear some of our grandma’s old saris because she is known for having such a large collection. My sister and I were fifteen, and that’s around the time girls wear their first sari.
We went through my grandma’s closet, vibrant colors and designs catching our attention from all directions. I thumbed through so many, each one holding a different memory. I recognized a white one from a photo we have of me as a little kid holding her hand. One I associated with an Indian ice cream called cassata. I remembered her cutting okra in a green one with flowers. I was hit with joy and sorrow, nostalgia pinging in my heart. These saris were my childhood. Each one was a representation of my grandmother and everything I love about her.
Although it was difficult to pick one, I ended up choosing a light blue sari to wear. It had a dark blue border and gold squares printed along the pallu that hangs off your shoulder. The material was silky and smooth, and it fell beautifully when held up.
A few hours before the party, we all started getting ready. My mom helped me drape it. She started by wrapping the fabric around me once, and draped the pallu over my shoulder to measure the length. She took the rest of the sari and pleated it at my waist, tucking it in and finishing it with a pin to secure it.
There are dozens of different ways to wear saris from state to state and even village to village in India, but there are two main styles — one where the pallu hangs loose down your arm, and one where it gets pleated and pinned up on your shoulder. Because of the looser material, I decided to keep mine down. We pinned it on the shoulder to make sure it wouldn’t fall, and the outfit was done.
The sari flowed beautifully around me, and the blue color complemented my golden-brown skin tone. I put flowers in my hair and wore traditional earrings with the outfit. I put kajal, Indian eyeliner, on and added a dark red bindi between my eyebrows, bringing the look together.
“Ready?” my mom called from downstairs, trying to get everyone out the door as soon as possible.
“Yup!” my cousin Ananya shouted back. We hurried down the stairs and out the door with the rest of the family, relatively quickly for ten people, three of whom are teenage girls.
Soon enough, we were at the temple and ready to get the party started.
We put up balloons and streamers, hung a banner up, touched up our makeup, and waited for guests to arrive. And arrive they sure did.
We had people from all throughout the community come. Our grandparents’ friends, our parents’ friends, our friends, and even people we didn’t know that well. There were around 500 people there.
I felt happy to be able to celebrate such an important milestone with so many people that I love and cherish.
I know that my grandparents won’t be around for forever, but I feel so lucky to be able to have such special memories with them. Times like these make me grateful to be able to commemorate all they’ve done for the community and us over the past years.
When we were back home after the party, I carefully folded the sari back up. I tucked the blue fabric back into the closet, a new memory added to my collection, ready to be unfolded and revisited for the rest of my life.
