When I was little, I wanted to work at the United Nations and wear a sari everyday.

My mother introduced me to jute, hand woven fabrics and vintage silk.

My mother-in-law introduced me to chiffon, hand dying and colours that pushed me beyond cream and maroons. 

My grandmothers introduced me to soft, soft, soft cotton. Pastels and the way creases fold upon fold. 
I never liked my tummy, especially once I had started to notice it. 

Most women don’t see it. But a sari hides a tummy, simply depending on how you wear it. 

It suits some, it doesn’t suit others. 

It probably pairs itself best with women who adore it. 
A woman in a sari. 

Seems to do things to an Indian man. Or one who feels likewise. 

Stirs things. 

Commands something new. 

Makes the brows raise and the words slip from the tongue, “Ah”. 
When I started this collection, it was obvious to me that there would be saris involved. 

And there are. 

It’s just that my mum has first dibs, so you might need to wait for the next season. 
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