I tried stepping into my mother’s shoes today in a small symbolic way. I ran wearing a saree on the occasion of Women’s Day. It was an attempt to try, for one day, what my mother has done for hundreds of days, not just wearing a saree, but running around in it while doing countless chores and responsibilities.
She balanced a day job as a college lecturer, where she wore classic Calcutta cotton sarees; the epitome of grace and beauty – and then rushed in the evening to her entrepreneurial role of running a fast-food center, the first one at that in Jalgaon, my hometown.
Whenever I think of my mother, the vision that comes before my eyes is of her wearing a pale blue chiffon saree with a sleeveless blouse, taking me to school on her Luna. Or wearing a gold and white silk saree at my wedding. I never remember her looking uncomfortable in that attire, which so many of us find cumbersome today. It’s not just how well she carried it or how impeccable her saree choices were; the fact that she could, and still can, drape a saree in less than two minutes baffles me.
What I also vividly recall is the immense physical labour her days involved. Her work commute included a 45-minute ride on a state transport bus to a nearby town. Oftentimes she would have to nearly jog to the bus stop to catch it. The overflowing buses meant no seating space, followed by delivering long lectures at college while standing. Returning in the late afternoon in Jalgaon’s scorching heat would test even the toughest.
Running the restaurant was her passion, and she would head there in the evenings with a smile that masked her tiredness. She showed immense grit in raising our family; keeping the house in order, managing her career and her passion, and ensuring that we were always cared for.
Even now, at 70, she never grumbles about how tedious wearing a saree can be, when many of her contemporaries are more than happy to move on to the more comfortable salwar-kurta. She does opt for those during travel and picnics. Otherwise, it’s always my graceful mother in an elegant saree.
As for me, it suffices to say that I failed miserably at my first attempt to go for a run wearing a saree. It was tougher than I had imagined, and it only strengthened my awe for my mother; and for all the women who do difficult things so that their families’ lives become easier.
The meagre 1.5 km that I ran, I dedicate to my mother. She was, and always will be, the epitome of grace and beauty; forever synonymous with the beautiful, colourful sarees she wears.
Snehal Writes 