‘It took growing into my Indian roots and appreciating the women around me to learn the secrets of the sari’

I still remember the day I wore my very first sari.

It was Diwali (Festival of Lights) in my community, and the crisp, late-October air encircled my suburban neighborhood. My mom barged into my room during a Gilmore Girls marathon to say, “Beta, come pick out a sari for the celebration tonight.”

My eyes snapped from Lorelai’s jokes to my mom’s face with apprehension. Looking down at my jean capris and hoodie, I winced at the thought of my mom spending an hour squeezing me in a crop-top style blouse and wrapping me into six yards of sheer fabric that I’d have to pile into my arms every time I needed to pee. I was a classic ABDC: American Born Confused Desi.

My mom and all of the women in our family had rocked saris since I could remember. But it was to say the least, foreign to me.

It took me many years following that evening to begin to ask about the decorations (not ‘what color and style?’ but ‘why do we wear these?’) that accompanied the allure and magic of a sari.

It took growing into my Indian roots and appreciating the women around me to begin learning the secrets of this sari, this beauty that spanned a cultural depth, a tradition thousands of my ancestors proudly represented.

A photograph from my grandmother’s album; her friends at a dinner party!

“From India’s olden days, women used to ONLY wear saris, beginning in their teenage years,” my mom explained. “Up until the mid-twentieth century, the sari was considered simple: woven in light whites and beiges, bringing out the features of women. It was light to wear in the hot, humid climate of India, and was second-nature: women wore it ritually – to bed, while working in the home and field, during mealtimes, and during visits with families and friends.

“A sari flatteringly draped a women’s body, a full skirt of fan-like pleats wrapped beneath a cotton blouse several times, with the extra whisk of fabric hung over the shoulder. Even today in my father’s home village of Ballia, many of his family members don saris daily when cooking, traveling, and take caring of their families.”

Add in the significance of gold jewelry, the concept of nose-rings (not just a popular piercing nowadays) and intricate mehndhi (henna) as women were given the best and brightest of adornments to represent their value in a family. The heavy gold pieces studded with gems represented the value of women in families, especially during marriage ceremonies.

A natini is any ring worn in the nose, a positive tradition for Indian women to accentuate facial features. My mom sported a nose ring in high school for style, something a lot of us girls do today! Mehndhi (henna), a tradition first carried by Islamic women, was adopted into the Indian culture to further create the presentation of women and their inner worth and beauty.

The women in my mom’s family have nailed these forms of beauty alongside saris for centuries. I asked my mom what she thought about beauty in herself and her closest family members. “To be beautiful,” she stated with a small smile, “means being humble, caring, empathetic for other people, affectionate, and respectful.

“Beauty is relationships built with family, children, grandparents, parents, husband. It is self-respect, dignity, and hard work for those you love, as a daughter, sister, and mother. It is an appreciation for who you are as an individual.”

Even though the spheres of education, industrialization, and globalized fashion have changed over time, a sari still is fundamental in Indian culture today. Historically, it has existed as a symbol of women’s domestication, but has evolved along with women’s roles. Saris are now crafted with the finest cotton, dyed in the brightest colors, woven with the highest thread count, and beaded with the most dazzling jewels, becoming even more beautiful than what existed in the olden days as focus shifted from function to fashion.

“Nowadays, my mom and other women wear it at their convenience, or for special occasions like weddings and poojas (prayer ceremonies),” my mom supplies. “The world has changed, work has changed, women’s roles have changed, and thus the prominence of the sari for Indian women globally.”

My besties and I at our childhood friend’s wedding, sporting sari swag.

My photographs on Instagram of my friends, family, and I in traditional Indian garb always get admiration from my diverse array of friends, stating “I wish I could wear a sari someday, they’re gorgeous!” Now, I smile, knowing that the sari I proudly wear is not just a stylish statement, but a celebration of both my culture and the potential Indian women posses.

The beauty spans depths of physical appearance and tell an entire story of family, women power, and Indian culture. It emerges from the wearer and her awareness, that this piece of clothing is the staple for an entire body of women. It means strength, significance, and a thirst for a rich life. It means a celebration of a woman’s identity and role in her world.

“Women today should remember that we are human beings, and human beings are not perfect,” says mom. “Yet, at the same time, we want to give our best in whatever we do. We should continue encouraging our children, our families, and our society we live in today to embrace intrinsic beauty: that is, beauty inside yourself.”