Happy Makara Sankranthi! And the Search for Sarees

The saree is one of the most elegant and graceful garments made for the female figure.  The ~six-yard long fabric wraps and drapes in just the right places to compliment a woman’s curves and contours.  Every saree looks unique and is intricately crafted. The women of India emerge from the dusty brown and red rubble background in such bright colors and delicate stitching, complimented with bangles upon bangles on their arms, clinking as they walk.  The sarees flow smoothly around their forms as they walk.  A woman from one caste looks just as beautiful as a woman from another.  There does not seem to be the pressure to have an idealistic thin figure, and every woman looks equally gorgeous and comfortable in her saree. 

My roommate Veena and I had a mission yesterday:  Find sarees to wear to the inaugural ball.  Help was needed from her extended family, living in the city.  Her “uncle,” actually her cousin’s husband’s father, picked us up and drove us to their home in Hyderabad for a home-cooked traditional South Indian meal.  We were filled to the brim and then some, guiltily turning away the third and fourth helpings out of fear of bursting.  All the while we watched videos of her cousin’s wedding and looked through the three photo albums chronicling the event.  Indian hospitality is unparalleled.  And they sure do love their weddings.

Her aunt and uncle then took us to a saree shop after lunch, where hundreds of the garments were thrown at us by men standing on a bed.  It was all very overwhelming, but I tried to be a bit decisive, and settled on a green saree with purple borders and a loopy gold pattern woven into it.  Hopefully Veena can help me wrap it and pin it so it doesn’t fall off halfway through the night.  After our purchase, we made our way to this very smelly lake of what I think is sewage/runoff water and not actual lake water on the other side of Banjara Hills. 

Since yesterday was a Hindu holiday celebrating the harvest, known as Makara Sankranthi, we knew there would be some sort of festival there.  If you have read the book the Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini, you will know about the kite-flying festivals that take place on Indian holidays.  Veena’s uncle drove us to the lake where the huge stone statue of Buddha stands in the middle (fun fact- it’s one of the largest Buddha statues in the world, and when they were transporting it to the middle of the lake the boat sank to the bottom and it stayed there for like 2 years), and we watched the mayhem of the kite competitions. The sky was littered with kites, some lazily floating from side to side, others ready to strike at any moment.  A young boy next to us tugged and pulled and managed to easily loop his kite around the string of an older man’s kite, and dragged it right into his hands.  The older man was not very happy, and quickly went to reclaim his fallen kite from the boy. Children were running around excitedly, with brightly colored kites in their hands, and I was tempted to go for a camel ride.  After experiencing the kite festival, her family took us back to their home for tea.  On our way, Veena’s aunt got out of the car to go speak with one of their neighbors.  Minutes later, she returns to the house with the neighborhood tailor, to take our measurements for the saree blouses!  Once again, I must say that Indian hospitality just blows me away.