Namaste, I'm a peach colour chanderi silk saree, sitting wrinkled in the cupboard of my mother. Now please do not think she doesn't love me and therefore my present condition is so. I was born out of her love and creativity. So I'm sure of her love for me. These wrinkles are just a phase I'm in, which shall pass once I'm dry-cleaned.

Let me take you back to my roots. I belong to a small town in Madhya Pradesh, India called Chanderi. Today my clan has seen the world and we are not only limited to my town. I don't exactly remember how my initial days were but I clearly remember my days at the fabric shop in a city called, Pune. It wasn't a long journey as compared to others since Pune is just in the neighbouring state of Maharashtra of my state Madhya Pradesh.

As a young fabric, I shared my days with some other fabrics like tissue silk, my cousins' chanderi cotton, some other cotton, and so on. I thought this was going to be my life forever. My owner who the customers call "bhaiyaa" takes me out of my shelf which is on the second floor of the shop. Because I'm a premium fabric I'm not kept on the first floor, in the glamour of cheap fabrics. He then roughly pulls me out and carries me with my siblings, cousins, and neighbours to the women. When the women see me, they love me. I feel it when they touch me to trace their hands through my sheer soft texture. Now the bhaiyya tells the price they have to pay to him to own a piece of me. And the women don't love me anymore.

Some other fabric is chosen and I'm left unsold. I do feel a little sad and a little jealous of the fabrics that went home with the women. But maybe I was meant to be in some places only. Where I'm loved beyond my price.

I recently got to know that this year too many weddings are happening in my country. So my hopes are high to get an identity this wedding season. With my hopes high and endlessly putting a show for the women without a sigh I was living my shelf life comfortably.

On one such day of comfort, a mid-20s woman entered the shop of my owner bhaiyaa. She knew she was looking for me. Assertively she tells my bhaiyaa about her demands. Again the same drill. Bhaiyaa being himself got me and my gang from the second floor to the counter on the first floor. His business skills displayed every one of us but that woman was clear about her choice and she kept her eyes on me! I was a love at first sight for her. Now comes the part that makes me anxious as a fabric. After feeling me with her soft hands she asks my price. This time it's a yes! An effortless yes with the satisfaction of finding me in her eyes! Without giving any second thoughts I was accepted and going to be hers. That day I knew I was ready to give love to this woman and with every thread of my existence I was sure she would love me back with the same intensity. The reward of waiting, I guess, is this love.

I fondly call this woman my mother. She may not be the one who created me as a fabric but I was born out of her as a saree. My mother is an elegant woman. She loves rich and simple things. She loves to experiment. I still remember the butterflies I got in my tummy when she loved my off-white color. Then I hear her discussing with my bhaiyaa about colors she wants me to dye in. To be honest, I was terrified initially but my faith in her dissolved all the hesitation. My mumma is an intelligent lady and came with all her requisites to the shop.

She is planning to drape me in a daytime wedding so she was particular about the pastel colours palette. Within five minutes my shade was decided. I was going to be a shade close to peach colour.

You know why I love my mumma so much? I will tell you. She loved my off-white color so much that she decided to keep the blouse untouched with any other shade. I love how she managed to keep my originality alive and fulfilled her desire to experiment with pastels.

I felt so new and nice about myself after being dyed to peach-like shade. Little did I know there was more to come. After all the buying and dying mumma took me to a lace shop. She picked a golden scalloped lace for my silhouette and gondas for the pallu. For my blouse, she picked up a latkan of my shade and at that moment my love for this woman grew stronger. I was thrilled with her ideas. To gather my identity together she creatively selected material for the kamar bandh. I know the kamar bandh will love to sit on her waist.

After roaming throughout the city with my mother, it was the time of my transformation. Mumma took me to the masterji. The tailor she is loyal to and so is he to her. Now everything she bought along with me is handed over to the masterji. He beautifully carved everything to life, the way she has imagined in her mind.

Voilà! A saree is born!

I was ready. The identity she gave me to accentuate my existence as a mere chanderi silk fabric is beyond my imagination. All I have for this new life is love and only love.

I see myself as joyful in the future. I can't wait to see the wedding my mumma is going to drape me in. I can imagine her looking beautiful to turn her eyes and head towards us. Besides this event for which I was brought to life, I'm sure about my place in Mumma's life. The place is not only her cupboard but her heart. She will keep draping me and I will love her by taking the shape of her ever-changing body!

After all, she gave me the freedom of being a saree. To become one with the person draping me. To become her.

.    .    .