A family weddings coming up, and my mums already started the search for that perfect sari. Unfortunately, since it’s a close relative, I’ve been coerced into wrapping myself in 6 yards of silk, donning a pair of heels (shudder) and making a complete ass of myself.
I actually used to enjoy popping from one store to another because the various hues and the myriad of textures from chiffon to georgette to heavy raw silk are riveting and absolutely beautiful to look at. It’s easy to get lost in the sea of silk and sequins as the salesmen pull out one sari after another in-between their sales banter.
But when you’re buying a sari for yourself and your extremely selective mother, it’s a whole new ball game. You’re acutely aware of every sequin and every embroidered border and the fact that you’ll be forking out a huge chunk of cash for the said sari.
The problem with shopping with my mum, is that we tend to clash. A lot. Our ideas of style are completely dissimilar and our taste in colours are poles apart, so it’s really no surprise that we barely make it out of any sari shop without a mini show down. I’ve seen salesmen visibly shudder when we walk into their outlets sometimes.
Today’s sari sojourn made me feel a bit like Rip Van Winkle. Dear god, when did sari’s become so expensive? Or is it that we’re just looking in all the wrong places. A simple printed one with a few sequins strewn on it was priced at 28,000. The salesmen were spouting prices like 34,000 and 45,000 without batting an eyelid for the simplest of sari’s. How, I ask you, how can you spend so much on an outfit which you’ll probably wear twice at the most and sleep comfortably at night?
I’m extremely picky, but surprisingly I found – nay, fell in love with – one which was absolutely perfect. I stood there for a few minutes, petting it lovingly because I was too scared to drape it on myself. If we’d stayed there longer I would probably have started crooning lullabies.
But then…. then I saw the price. I heaved a sigh. And got out of the place as fast as I could. It was one of those exorbitant amounts which would have made me die a little every time I looked at it.
So, now it’s back to periodic sari shopping cum drama with my mother in-between slumming up my education.
Oh well. Vut to do.