The warp and weft of India

“If I have a magnificent obsession, it’s the sari,” states Malvika Singh—writer, curator, cultural historian, and a doyenne of Indian textiles. In her new book, Saris of Memory, she uses the sari as a metaphor for Indianness.

While the book is laced with important stories of the revival of Indian handlooms after Independence, what stands out is the collection of stories the author shares through her saris. From the first sari that was gifted to her as a girl (a white Chanderi) to the 21 saris gifted by her mother-in-law during her wedding (mostly Kanjeevarams) and the many cotton weaves she has worn and loved over the years, this is as much a deep dive into India’s weaving traditions as it is a personal memoir.

What made you write this book at this point? Is it because you wanted to chronicle the saris and memories of your life?

The idea to write about my life, particularly now, came to me during the COVID-19 lockdown. There was time to think and reminisce. Because after high school, my formal training was as a theatre director and actor, my most comfortable tool of communication is storytelling. I tend to write as I speak, so I decided that before my memory begins to get fuzzy, I should put my personal story down for my grandchildren. Ours was a different age and time. I needed to share that with the next generation of my family.

You refer to the sari as ‘an unstitched length of cloth’—which is certainly true. How then did this ‘unstitched length of cloth’ come to define Indian culture?

India has had, and continues to have, the finest and most diverse weaving techniques and living skills on planet Earth. I believe these have survived because a large number of Indians still use the unstitched length of cloth as turbans, lungis, saris, and angavastrams. Traditionally, 'fashion' in our country was defined by how you used the length of cloth to cover your head or your body. The sound of the shuttle will be heard as long as the turban, sari, and angavastrams remain essential as traditional clothing, defining community, identity, and customs.

You write movingly about the first sari you received in the book. Can you tell us about the sari, the weave, and why it had such a seminal impact on you?

My first sari was from Chanderi in Madhya Pradesh. It was a white length of cloth with a red and gold border and small red and gold motifs scattered across it. It was precious—a gift from Leela Mulgaonkar for Ganpati puja. From then on, till today, the sari has become my second skin, an intrinsic part of my being.

You write about the many women who inspired you—from your mother to Pupul Jayakar and Indira Gandhi. Can you tell us about their influence on you?

I was very fortunate and privileged to have grown up at a time when stalwart women walked the talk and consciously resuscitated and renewed handlooms and the craft skills that are embedded in the earth and soul of the Indian subcontinent. Their endeavours across many disciplines had a profound impact on me. I wanted to emulate them in every way—in the way they dressed, worked, argued, debated, and delivered. My mother was my lodestar, and many others were the universe that I admired, respected, and wanted to be part of. They taught me, by the way they were, to follow my dream, to be outspoken, honest, and confident, and to pick myself up when I stumbled and fell, only to rise again and face the big bad world. They taught me to share information, friendships, and experiences. There was room for all.

How has the sari kept the sacred traditions of India alive?

I have always believed that the weavers in India are the ‘designers’ of what they create on the loom. They draw their inspiration from the landscape they live within. Colours are influenced by the earth and sky and the infinite shade card of nature. You can never go wrong if those are your fundamentals. Alien influences will come and go. Some will get absorbed and stay. Some will morph into another avatar. Open borders, fertilisation of the soil with new ideas, and the blending and contrasting of colours all come together in the unstitched length of woven, printed, embroidered, layered, quilted cloth. Time and age, socio-political and cultural truths, economic realities, and importantly, sagas from ancient myths and legends, as well as contemporary happenings, repose in the textiles of India. Textiles tell stories of religious and secular histories, of rulers and the ruled through the ages and changing times. They are the manifestations of civilization. They represent us all. They unify.

Will the sari survive the craze for Western wear that women are vying after today?

An unstitched cloth can be draped any which way. It is versatile. It is flexible. It knows no boundaries. Therefore, it can live on for all time.

QUICK TAKES:

1 Your favourite weave: The Jamdani.

2 Women who wear a sari well: Nira Benegal, Anjali Gujral, Uzra Bilgrami, and my daughter-in-law, Anjali Singh, wear saris extremely well and with ease.

3 The most complicated weave for me is the double ikat of Patan—the Patan Patola. This resist-dyeing and weaving skill is mind-boggling.