Sari Shopping: From pet peeve, to all in a day's work!

Integral as rites and rituals are to a wedding, equally necessary is the trousseau shopping. In a South Indian wedding, the terminology gets extended to the immediate relatives of the family of the bride-to-be, with nit-picking over selection of potential purchases – of Kancheepuram silk saris, to be specific – spilling over to the said family members as well.

To the uninitiated, Kancheepuram silk saris hold a unique pride of place for South Indians, many of whom who deem the ostentatiousness of the wedding based on the saris worn by members of the bridal party on both sides. In my experience as an attendee of quite a few such weddings, including a couple in which I have had to wear a silk sari myself, I can attest to the fact that the discussion of the apparel lasts a lot longer when reminiscing about the marriage than the wedding proceedings itself.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise then that ‘sari shopping’, as I have come to call it, is often a comparative endeavour. Of course, not with the intention of one-upping – at least, not in the weddings that I have attended – but based on inputs freely given and collected from close family and friends, who have had organised weddings in the immediately preceding time-frame.

From deciding on the best location to purchase the saris from to settling on the optimal price to be set as the budget, the whole process of zeroing down on the actualities itself takes over a few weeks.

Exciting as it sounds, the reality of shopping, however, is tedious and farthest from the expectations of utopia.

For those living in the metro cities away from South India, while there are several big-brand retailers to choose from when it comes to buying the requisite silk clothing drapes, discontentment with the available choices makes them head south – down to Kancheepuram itself – to avail of the so-called better product options.

And, though almost always there is assistance forthcoming from a local – recommended by one of the aforementioned family or friends – suggestions also pouring forth from the garrulous neighbour sitting next in the local transportation vehicle involve checking such suggested outlets as well. The latter translates to digression from the initial plans made, and re-accounting of the time needed to complete the rest of the travel itinerary.

Traversing through more outlets also means spending more time cooped cross-legged inside the stores, first pointing at the array of brightly textured – some, even ridiculously shocking to the otherwise sober urban tastes – material and then discarding the preference because of clashes with colour combinations, between the sari and its border.

I know, it sounds a little bit pretentious – and a reason for the previously mentioned mental inertia – but trust me, going for a purple sari and pink border combination is just not done. The shopkeeper will say it’s one of the most trending colour combinations, but as someone who has to wear the six-yard creation with a tanned complexion, it just won’t work. As won’t work the varying shades of green that keeping popping up at regular intervals.

Not that I have any problem with the colour green, but I have long held reservations about owning a sari in that particular colour. It just doesn’t feel right, but if only the shopkeeper would understand that and stop amassing that colour in front of me.

Finally, when you think that you have found the most gorgeous choice on offer, without any quibbling on the colour, design and border, there’s the biggest hurdle of them all waiting to catch you unawares. The price tag, a handy snippet of information, conveniently hidden between the elaborate folds of the sari suddenly makes an appearance and once noticed, it’s not something you can forget – not even by waving the wand and muttering obliviate – that easily. You think, your preference might make one of those rare exceptions to the pre-assigned budget and that familial love for you would be enough to surmount the price – after all, how frivolous slight over-spending can be when compared to love? – but, like I mentioned earlier, reality works in far different ways.

When the shopkeeper refuses to entertain and budge from his ‘no bargains’ motto despite repeated persuasions from the rest of the family members making up the trip, you are subtly advised – in Marathi, no less – to either pick something else, how about revisiting that purple-and-pink theme?, or wait for your turn when we resume the sari hunting in the next shop. While, a courageous person would still opt for the first option afraid of the extension to the shopping trip, me being me, I always take the other road. And, so onwards it goes, with me dragging my feet and leaving my heart behind with that glorious sari that I don’t think I will ever reconnect with again.

Mercifully, the withdrawal pangs don’t go for on long as I get to pick a better choice – there I said it – in the very next shop without having to worry about price negotiations or budgetary concerns. And, it’s pink too, with a monochromatic glimmer that I might have not opted anywhere else, but one that I have fallen hopelessly in love with and want to keep wearing, over and over again.