The Flattering Power of Sari

At 2:00 a.m. in the Delhi airport, India I saw more sequence and glitter than in my entire life.

With my husband we had just arrived in India for business and were awaiting our first domestic flight to Chennai. I was trying to get some sleep on the side of the  bench surrounding  octagonal pillar; my head was close to a turban of a tiny old man, my feet - to a family of three (they were using their side of the bench in turn). 

Women in saris were coming and going – old and young, slim and not.  I was practically screaming ‘look at this!’ at every passing gown. There was not even one sari that I liked less - each and every of them looked amazing!

My husband completely agreed with me on that.

The vibrancy of colors, often calculatedly matching, but also in bold combinations (for example, a yellow blouse,  dark blue sari with magenta-and-gold  borders) and large number of bracelets, anklets and necklaces made me think that we had arrived at the advent of a major national holiday.

But I was wrong. This was totally casual attire of an Indian woman.

Later I saw ladies in sari in offices and café', on motorcycles (behind the driver, or as a driver) looking very comfortable and at ease in their elaborate gowns and jewelry.  Not just a few women, but most of them. It was an apparent dress code.

Now I had a chance to look closely and here are my findings:

Sari is the most strategic and universally flattering gown in the world. The young proportionate woman looks a goddess in it. But all the rest of us – short, heavy, bowlegged – somehow appear very dignified (and pretty too).

The reason, besides glitter, is a variety of strategic folds and angles at which  fabric is draped.

Two embellished borders of a sari cross the body in front: the inner border comes across the chest; it accents the X shape and makes  shoulder line stronger and wider thus giving the figure better proportion. The outside border starts in front  below the hip. This one crosses the entire body at a long diagonal, visually slimming it and making legs look longer. Not too bad, a?

Then, there is a folding gathered at the waist and strategically positioned slightly off-center. This folding keeps  fabric at the woman’s tummy perfectly loose, making the entire ‘tummy issue’ irrelevant.

There are no protruding female tummies in India!

It made me wonder of the advantages of growing up and never giving yourself a judging side-ways look into the mirror followed by sucking your stomach up hard, and then, as long as you can manage without breathing, watching it perfectly flat, hoping it stayed that way…

Apparently Indian teenagers are free from such experiences; their mothers and grandmothers – as well.

And I am not finished with the folding yet. When a woman moves folded fabric precedes her every step framing her foot like a long conical bell or fan. The leg underneath seems endless and its movement – regal. No wonder, high heels are not popular in India. Who needs them when such gracefulness can be achieved in flip-flops!

I could not help myself comparing the flattering power of sari to our western clothes and must admit that we are at disadvantage here. If I can trust my travel observations few women look good in  business suit. It makes us bulky on the top and shows no mercy to our ‘normal’ bottoms by exposing imperfect width or shape of our hips, those treacherously protruding stomachs and true length (or should I say, shortness) of our legs. We try to compensate for all this cruelty by good,  expensive fabrics and muted 'earthy' colors.

But next to a woman in sari we look like little grey hens near a peacock.

During our visit to a construction company in Delhi, my husband and I passed a young female worker carrying a cement block on her head. She was wearing a cotton gauze green-and-indigo sari smartly tacked for convenience.

-  Look at this gorgeous thing - I said to my husband, - I would've loved to have it for a very special occasion!

-  What, a cement block?

Gains and Losses

In my mother’s last weeks with cancer my sister and I once met the lady manager of our apartment building. She enquired us about our mom and then said:

‘Your mother is blessed to have both daughters beside her!’

At that moment I was mostly impressed by the American way of finding good sides to any situation (Russian compassion would be typically expressed in graver terms).   

Later, however, the direct meaning of the remark caught my attention: indeed, those of us, who in the end are surrounded by the loving family, are lucky. Even if you have it to the last day, your siblings may be far away and head-over-heels busy.

But there is more to this picture than reassuring smiles and kind words. This is from the book I am currently reading:

 ‘…She took down extra pillow and quilts from the shelves, shoved the bed up to the window, and propped Eva where she could see the doings in the yard. She went back, put one syringe in the water, finished up the pies and put them in the oven, then brought a little tepid water in a cup for Eva to drink. She did drink, which was good, and her color was up. Her eyes brighter.’

‘The Master Butcher Singing Club’, by Luise Erdrich

Eva is a German immigrant, a butcher’s wife in the Prohibition era, who is dying of cancer.  ‘She’ – is her friend and neighbor, a younger woman without a profession, a high school dropout and daughter of a small town drunkard.  The woman earns her living by helping in the butcher shop. She also nurses Eva out of love and respect.

What is important, both these women are, in modern terms, ‘uneducated’. All their skills are limited to meeting household needs and taking care of others.

Frontier woman

The female characters in the book (as well as some women of the older generation, we know) are remarkable experts in what they do, but on the modern social scale their skills are evaluated very humble.  A woman today that stays at home and has no career aspirations is often considered not very bright, or lazy. She is almost expected to explain herself, and I know a few who feel inferior even for a temporary break in corporate career.   

On the other hand, the prestige of many professions, as well as their financial worth, notably devalues just because too many women are now pursuing them. 

Another sad social paradox. 

But there is a third side to the situation that bothers me most: what we have lost by persistently disengaging women with humble family matters.

…Those bright and creative, who a century ago channeled their natural observance and smarts into making life around them comfortable and dignified…

…Those strong and daring, who kept their loved ones safe and, by their own everyday example, taught children to face life challenges and to persevere…

Now, when we need a fraction of their domestic expertise we go to specialists.

Well, to do what an uneducated neighbor in the extract above did for Eva, we would need the services of:

A certified nurse (preferably, 24-7)

A personal chef (specifically instructed to make everything from scratch)

A skillful housekeeper - to maintain things that poor Eva could not do anymore for her family of five

But even if one has money to pay for all the above, a certain ingredient would still be missing – that is, the whole-hearted care.

It just cannot be bought!

This is not so, because there are good and bad nurses, or good and bad housekeepers, but because development of ‘thick skin’ is an unavoidable stage of professional maturity. You either suffer with every client of yours, destroying your mental and physical health, or you figure out the ways of protecting yourself during your job and - of getting over it, as soon as the job is done. 

This genuine care is not even a component, but rather the binding agent that turns detached impersonal services with all their ‘9-to-5’ limitations, lack of ‘current knowledge’  and ‘honest human mistakes’ into the adjusted to a tee, living and breathing supporting system.

It makes mother a better doctor than a member of the medical academy and - a better cook than French chef.       

Quietly women did it for centuries turning wilderness into civilization and chaos – into live. But the appreciation of society was elsewhere, and in search for this appreciation many started seeking more respected roles, leaving traditional occupations behind or delegating them to machines and services.

Now we take a pill for every ailment and battle child obesity.

Besides other, more material reasons, this is also the price we pay for the deeply rooted in modern culture look down on clothes mending, floor scrubbing and lullaby singing. 

Counting My Blessings

All year round popular magazines offer psycological advices like “breath deep to fight stress and anxiety”. Never worked for me. When I am under stress I need to overcome its root-cause. Until this is done, I am not relieved.

As unpleasant and sickening as stress is, it is my great motivator. When sometimes I try to “calm down and look at the bright side of it” things only get worse… Well, most of the time…  

But in the midst of the winter it is somehow different. When it is cold and dark we need more warmth, more compassion, and more cheering up.  And to get all that we invented the holiday season (please, forgive me those who have a more spiritual explanation!)

Psychiatrists swear by the benefits of counting your blessings - i.e.,  of consciously focusing on the most valuable things in your life. They say the outcome will always make you feel good.

So, I decided to count mine.

First of all, I am blessed with my close family. It is not large and not entirely traditional. And our relations at times are not perfect. But the longer I live, the more I feel extremely lucky to have them.

Over the years my opinions in this department altered substantially: from a naïve thought that I deserved them all, to the unpleasant realization that along the way I made all the mistakes in the book, and later, - to deep sadness seeing many better people losing their loved ones left and right.

The only thing I am certain about now is that life is fragile and relations are fragile. While trying to do my best I only own my past and present.

As for the future, it is more about hope than planning.

This kind of art is called "Americana".
I like it for many details and overall warm feeling 

My second blessing is the fact that we are here, in America. It took me 11 years to become an American citizen. My fingerprints did not come out six times in a raw, and then the file was simply lost. But when I sent a letter to our senator the answer came within a week, and in the next two weeks I had my citizenship interview.

In Russia the story like this would be considered a miracle.

Last time my husband talked on the Skype with his mother in Moldova, she asked him, if it was warm in our house. She is in her mid-80^s and sometimes feels not  too well, but she knows that we have our own furnace (she had been visiting with us several years ago).

However, living all her life in apartments with a Soviet-style central heating system, she is used to suffer every year from late and insufficient heat supply. And therefore, it is hard for her to imagine that we do not depend on other people in that: in our own home we make it as warm as we like.

One of the major blessings in my American life is its dignity. Rich or poor, educated or not, we are not looked down upon. Some people say, this results from the Second Amendment, but I sometimes think, it is in the air of this country that diligently blows out many stale prejudices. 

An example that is on my mind is sad but true. When we lost our mother to cancer both my sister  and me were struggling financially, but the owner of the funeral parlor was as respectful to us as to anyone who could afford an expensive ritual.

He made some inquires regarding our grandparents and filled an application based on what we knew. This knowledge was quite limited, but to my surprise, we were not asked to produce any documents in support of our words.

Being recently from Russia I was thinking: “Why would he believe anything we said?”

“Why would people lie about such things?”  probably was his American reason.

Another "second blessing" of mine is my few lifetime girlfriends. Never thought much about it, maybe because it was so easy and natural when we were young, open-hearted, and life was smiling on us.

Now it is different. One of them lives in the far North of Russia. Many years we communicated mostly through letters and postcards. Twice a year I put Hallmark stores upside down to find the right  post card for her (on Christmas, and then - on her birthday). Recently we started talking through Skype (and even see each other!), but time difference makes it tricky.  Still we participate in each other's lives.

The other one lives in the US but became unreachable. I can only guess her reasons for not returning my calls, but whatever they are - I do not hold it against her. Last time I was listening to her answering machine I thought, “Well, at least this is her voice. That means, she is alive and, hopefully, well. Good enough for me. ”

I also have a dear friend here in America. She is my former English teacher and deserves at least a special posting. We do not see much of each other, because they moved from the area couple of years ago, but she takes time to weed out most ridiculous mistakes in my published posts. So those who read them later (for example, in Australia) are actually at advantage.

And then I am blessed with comparatively good health. Part of it is lucky genes (thank you, grandma!), and the other part is the early developed habit of making some effort. 

In our health club I once walked behind a man in his 60s. He stepped with difficulty being in apparently bad shape. My thought was “He probably provided well for all his family and now can finally do something for himself”.  

I know many people who put the question of health on a backburner for most of their lives. Their bodies were supposed to withstand all the coming challenges (and indulgences), and on a rare occasion – be mended up by the ultimately powerful modern medicine.

I was entertaining the same thoughts until my first serious encounter with doctors. It left me pretty shaken and skeptical about any chances of healthy aging.

Started doing yoga I regained my hopes. I even said to one of our friends that with yoga I finally felt protected. He laughed at me and said,

“Oh, Svetlana, don’t be childish!”

Happy New Year!