Saris and Other Indian Fashions

Another post about India? Yup. It's a hard place to shake I tell you. I've had people ask if I bought myself a sari and the answer is no. Though who wouldn't feel that much classier pushing her cart through Walmart while wearing one of these??

Actually, these are some of the fanciest saris in a high-end boutique on Commercial Street in Bangalore. Because all of the gorgeous colors and fabrics may look the same to untrained western eyes, there are some things you may not know. . . . These particular saris have a close-fitting top called a choli and the skirt is a ghagra, then there is a scarf that goes over the whole ensemble that allows you to see the decorative beadwork beneath.


This, however, is a sari in the more wrapped-body sense. Apparently (as my good friend Jane Hamilton educated me) the sari was born in the southern-most state of Tamil Nadu where she lives and we traveled. You can see the choli underneath but the ghagra skirt is hidden by about 9 yards of silk. In this version it's an underskirt with a draw-string waist that is more like a heavy slip than a skirt.

We'll get back to that in a moment. . . .

Here is Lillian in her chudidar (just because I won't wear Indian gear in public doesn't mean my kids can't--it's the beauty of being seven) which is another traditional Indian outfit. In the south we saw saris and chudidars, chudidars and saris with only one or two women wearing jeans.

The chudidars are made of a long overshirt, usually with slits on both sides, and a pair of pants that are made so long they bunch at the ankles. Then a jaunty scarf tops off the ensemble. Lily was quite the international queen when she wore this to church with her purse from Thailand, her shoes from China and none of them the same color.

My father took the rest of these photos and they give you an idea of the variety of dress you'll see. I think these women are from the northern part--I'd guess Jaipur?--where the climate is a little cooler and the influences from Afghanistan and Pakistan are evident.

But you'll see saris everywhere. And the answer is YES, all that fabric is terribly hot. You get the impression from all the breezy, flowing fabrics that they're a cool fashion option in 100 degree weather but that would be incorrect. As my mother wrapped me up in her sari every layer of fabric was more and more stifling until I wondered how they can stand it. Indian women are amazing.

If they're working they'll just scoop up the back hem of the sari and stuff it in at their waist so that it comes up between their legs and makes a sort of Gandhi-style set of shorts. Functional but still very warm.


But going back to my own experience, what I found interesting was that I had the mistaken impression that you just wrap up your sari and go (shows how much I know) but just as with western fashions where women know exactly what cuts of blouses are in and which are not, how long stylish jeans need to be and the most vogue ways of wearing a scarf there are definite trends and fashions in wearing saris.

You see how baggy the choli shirt is on my arms? Very tacky. Indian women wear their cholis as form-fitting shirts and they'll often wear them so tight around the arm that I wonder how they get them on and off. Fashion mistake number one.

Then you can't see it but my choli goes to my waist. Usually cholis stop just below the bustline, leaving your stomach bare (and let me tell you I saw a lot of stomachs in India--it was comforting to see how many other women have the same sagging, post-pregnancy battle scars I do. It was rather liberating). But when my mother had this sari made for her, not wishing to show off her own stomach, she asked them to cut it long. They informed her that only nuns wear them that way which made both of us chuckle. Fashion mistake number two.

And as for the actual wrapping process it's terribly complex. You knot one corner of the fabric, tuck it in the right side of the drawstring waist of your underskirt then wrap it to the left around you. After two wraps you reach for the other end of all that fabric and pleat it. Then you wrap that pleated end around the back, over your chest and over your left shoulder. Very tricky.

But the hardest part is yet to come because you still have yards of fabric in the middle unaccounted for. You pick up that section right at your waist and in this tricky rocking motion with your outspread hand you gather up the extra fabric in about ten eight-inch pleats which you tuck into your waistband as a group. Ready to go!

The process took us about 20 minutes for that photo of me though the woman in this video clip does it in a minute. However, there are professional sari wrappers whom you can hire if you have a special occasion--such as your wedding day--where you want your sari to be absolutely perfect and cutting-edge fashionable. I don't think I'll be applying for that job anytime soon.

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