Six Yards of Warmth

Diwali was around the corner, and it was getting chillier with every passing day. As the festive season approached, excitement rose, and finally we can spend all the money buying things we saved up for. It's sad how we enjoy this luxury while many are denied the common needs. Like every year, I would be donating some unused clothes and blankets to my maid and some to the NGO. That's my bit I give back to society every year. It doesn't cost me anything but those hand-me-down clothes may save someone's dignity. So, it was a fine Sunday evening, I took out the table and placed it against the closet. I held on to the handle of the closet and climbed up the table. My knees were starting to be a problem, ugh I must be getting old I thought to myself. I reached for the big suitcase above the closet and dragged it towards me until I lost control and it fell on the ground with a thud. I got down with great effort, oh my knees. I remembered​ how my mother always complained about her knee problem. She would often say how she hated her declining years. Somewhere I feel thankful that she left us sooner, I know how it must sound. I can bear the pain and the loss myself, but I could not watch her spirit die with every chemotherapy. I was devastated when she was diagnosed with cancer, but a little relieved when she was finally relieved from all the pain.

Pushing aside all my thoughts, I opened the suitcase. There were so many sarees, dresses, scarves, and some blankets. I dusted these and started taking out one by one. To my surprise, the clothes were a lot more in number than what I remembered putting in the suitcase, some of them I had not even seen in years. They were familiar, yet they seemed so distant with some faint memories attached to each one of them. While I had already half emptied the suitcase, I saw a saffron-colored silk saree. Not sure what kind of silk, but silk for sure. It was my mom's favorite kind of silk and mine too. Oh, how I fought with her for this saree, to which she triumphantly said, “You never wear sarees, why do you want to waste it over one-day worth an outfit?”. Without waiting for it she snatched it from me, I liked fighting with her over sarees. It always gave me a sense that at least she is fighting for herself sometimes. Well, that saree was really beautiful and worth the fight. I never really got over it, so when I was getting married I asked her for it and she willingly gave it. She was teary-eyed when I asked for it, I hoped and assumed tears were not for this saree, of course not.

Remembering all this and she was all too overwhelmed. I got up and dusted that saree. I stood in front of the mirror and put this saree over my shoulder, the mere feel of it, each and every piece of fabric had her presence in it. The warmth that I would feel when I hugged her while I sobbed. The times I had jumped over all of my successes, SSC results, graduation, or my first job, she was the first person I would hug. Other than these big occasions in life affection for each other in the family was never so obvious.

Whilst I was just looking myself up in the mirror with this saree around my shoulders, I remembered​ the little me, doing the same. Mom would watch me with admiration and would then drape me in that saree. Occasionally scolding me for not standing still, oh that was so much fun. Today, I stand still mom, I drape those six yards all by myself. Before I knew it, I had perfectly draped the saree and taken out the bindi stuck to the mirror, and put it on. Well, not bad, I thought. Tears started mounting in my eyes, it was getting heavier on my throat, too difficult to gulp it down. I felt a warm embrace of my mom while the saree touched my skin. I missed her so much, I composed myself and took out the jewelry box. Happiness filled me up like never before. I wore the bangles she gifted me on my first anniversary. I put on some cologne and I heard the loud honks of our car horns. I quickly arranged all the clothes lying around, put off the main switch, picked up the gift lying on the coffee table, got house keys, and left.

I sat in the car, and he helped me fasten the seat belt. I looked at him, took his hand, placed it near his face, and tapped on his watch. He says,” Oh, I know I know! But I am just 15 mins late… traffic you know!”. I roll my eyes playfully and correct him “30 mins” and gestured to him to get going. He looks at me again, “Hey you look beautiful.. and this saree?”. I nod and say, “It was my mom's. Gorgeous, isn't it?”.