My Imperfect saree

It was 2022 when my so-called unemployed, pathetic life took a different turn when I got a chance to work with an educational institute as an educator. It wasn't that I was discovered or something. I applied to the post, convincing myself that I wasn't gonna hear back, just like numerous educational institutes, which never called me back. But to my surprise, or I could say that maybe my stars perfectly alinged with my luck that they not only called me but also arranged a personal interview as well as a broad interview with me. Finally, when the board gave me a green signal, thus selecting me for that post, I was told that they have a dress code of saree and I need to follow it without fail. Of course, it was just a saree, I mean, how hard could it get right?

But I couldn't be more wrong about that.

I had never been a saree girl back then, but following a dress code for an 8-hour work shift can never do any harm to anyone. Meanwhile, I learnt to drape a saree from my mother and was quite sure that I would wear it perfectly. But after joining school, when I saw plenty of "perfect sarees" walking around me, I realized how delusional I had been. I would walk up to several lady teachers, asking them how they had draped their saree so perfectly. To my surprise, everybody had a different way to their perfection. So someday I would try somebody's way, but it won't work for me. Then I'll try someone else's way, which again would not work out for me. I don't know how many YouTube tutorials I went through for one year straight just to get my perfect saree. But eventually, after a month of trying one tutorial, I would try to fix it again by watching other tutorials. But nothing worked.

Every morning while getting ready to work, it would be an awful struggle with front pleats, shoulder pleats, and safety pins that were ready to pierce my skin like expectations I never agreed on. But still, I would manage to make my way out of it. And the struggle would get heavier when nature would take an about turn every few months. Especially when the weather would get extremely humid, and your whole body would be drenched in sweat, but your one hand is busy carrying the front pleats while walking (coz saree can cling to your body, even if that's cotton fabric), and the other one carries your lunch bag and umbrella. The sweat would make its way right from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, like a flowing river in the month of monsoon, exploring various parts of your body, unannounced.

During that time, you just forget the idea of perfection, because you just need to survive those months.

But that isn't the real issue I wanted to talk about. The real point is how the idea of "being perfect" has made us all hollow and identical, chasing the same path as others. Saree has somewhat told us how to behave, how to be graceful and elegant, how to look culturally sound and perfect, with a set of instructions that comes with it. Like to have perfect symmetry of pleats, pallu obediently staying on the shoulder, hiding the fabric here and there with the ruthless safety pins, and most importantly, concealing the body parts that can make or break your character.

(Trust me, the "perfect sarees walking around me" do talk loosely, imperfectly about other ladies who are perfect in their own ways.)

But you know what, the imperfect saree is an actual proof that a body walking underneath is a living one, a breathing one, not a flawless mannequin. It is evident that a saree would slip while walking, that the 8-hour shift would definitely loosen the pleats, and the border would twist while delivering the lectures, and the perfectly fitted blouse could get slide here and there, not because you want to show your skin, but because the 40-minute back-to-back lectures can make it feel restless just like you become.

My imperfect saree made me realize how we all have been conditioned to look and feel perfect all the time. It helped me to see how we crave approval from the people who themselves are superficially perfect, but deep down are insecure in their own ways. It opened my eyes to the fact that something that might be perfect for someone else may or may not be perfect for you. It made me aware that it was my uneven pleats, stubborn creases, and loose folds that actually make my saree perfect.

Because beauty isn't in symmetry. It lives in the imperfect in-between that makes us truly unique from each other.

So cheers to all the imperfections we have, because it might be perfection for someone else, trust me. Since the day I stopped caring about my saree, I have started receiving plenty of compliments not only from "perfect sarees walking around" but also from strangers whom I meet every day during the commute. Some have even told me that no matter how I drape the saree, it just looks "perfectly" on me.

Yeah, it's funny when I receive such compliments because, believe me, I still don't have that perfection in my draping. It has loose folds right from the morning, my shoulder pleats are most of the time out of sync with each other, and the frenemy safety pins are still the same. Sometimes my saree brushes the floor with its length, and sometimes my saree looks like a long skirt ready to reveal the colour of my petticoat. But I just moved on with that. I don't go to the washroom to adjust it perfectly.

Because I know that what matters most is the living person walking underneath it, not the fabric holding the body together.

It taught me to love my imperfections because they make me who I am.

Because they hold my stories.

Because they are the cracks that let the light in.

Because they make my reflection worth seeing.

With love,

AY