A Sari Story

On the morning of the 11^th day ceremony (see this post for details), I had to put myself in a sari. This is not something I do all the time, and because I knew I’d have to do it early in the morning, I practiced the night before. I didn’t want to bother my mother-in-law, so I told my husband the plan: search “how to wear a sari” on YouTube. Here it is:

After a few tries and a certain amount of swearing, I understood where to tuck and how to wind the fabric as well as the clever use of safety pins for maximum security. I picked up my hem and carefully picked my downstairs to show my mother-in-law, who said I’d done well.

In the morning, I managed to get myself into the sari and though the pleats weren’t pristine, I felt I looked presentable. Downstairs, there was much milling about as we prepared to set out for the ceremonial grounds. There was also a certain amount of standing around as various people went in search of this or that necessary object for the ceremony, and during one of those times, an auntie laughed gently and plucked at my sari while saying something to my husband.

I backed away, proud of my work and pretty sure she was mocking it. My husband, translating, said she wanted to fix it. I refused, saying we were about to leave (not that that really makes any difference in India, land of flexible time, but it seemed like a good excuse to me).

She backed off and seemed a little hurt. Later, my husband told me exactly what she’d been saying. Roughly, it was this: “I’d like to help her. I don’t want anyone making fun of my daughter.”

Feeling every inch the ingrate, and upset that my husband hadn’t translated this to me at the time, I was extra-nice to her for the rest of the visit. It never seemed like enough to make up for my unintentional blunder, though.

But you can bet your boots the next time an auntie offered to help me fix my sari, I jumped at the opportunity to let someone tug at the yards of silk encasing me.

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Saree Dreams

While I was researching yesterday’s post, I came across the online equivalent of a fun-n-frothy Easter treat: a blog about saris. The main poster is a designer living in LA, but there are five other contributors and the content is delightfully wide-ranging. Apparently it’s possible to earn a degree in sari tying, there is a Saree Dreams Twitter channel (#Saree), and saris were banned in Pakistan for quite some time but are currently trendy there.

My favorite post so far is this one, because never in a million years did I think I’d see a woman in a sari playing volleyball. The one showing a leather belt over a sari is a real head-scratcher, and then there’s the one that’s only about saris in that it involves people who wear them in Los Angeles.

There’s been a surge in the Bangladeshi population in an area that’s home to roughly 50,000 Korean-Americans and is commonly known as Koreatown. Last October, however, an application to rename the area Little Bangladesh was filed. That’s not sitting well with the Korean residents, who have filed a similar application to name part of the area Koreatown.

This excerpt from the New York Times article about the conflict between the two groups sums up a sentiment I’m used to hearing about when worthy but unseemly projects are proposed in wealthy neighborhoods:

“It’s nice to embrace other communities,” said Brad Lee, a member of the Koreatown neighborhood council’s board, “as long as it’s not in our backyard. Or in our front yard.”

I’m not sure if that comment should be filed under racism, xenophobia or just plain fear, but it just floored me.

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