Saris of Memory by Malvika Singh chronicles the history of India’s textile legacy through personal narratives
Malvika Singh Saris of memory is a range of prohibited accounts of the rich history of important movements in the textile industry of India. It is not only a book on the Saris. “This is a book on my life, of my first memory to wear a sari. I decided to use the sari as a metaphor to write on my journey with skills, textiles and crafts because it is something that interests me very, thanks to mentors like Pupul Jayakar, Padmaja Naidu , Jasleen Dhamija, Shanta Guhan and Prema Srinivasan. “A sari can be light of texture and weight, but as the memoirs of Singh elaborate, it should never be taken lightly.
The sari as a metaphor
Singh says that the Sari is an integral part of its identity: “The sari is my second skin. I don’t think about it, I draped it around me.
For Singh, the sari is “a metaphor that symbolizes this ribbon of my life which looks at a wonderful, diverse and dynamic country which has lived many tests, many tribulations and despite all that, continues to remain resilient and inventive”. She explains why she feels that the sari lives: “The sari as a length of fabric not transformed, carried on this earth into different curtains, just like the many styles of turbans, all without relief, and the angavastram not mixed, have ensured continuity.
Family and inspiration
Over the years, Singh has seen saris become memories that inspire. She remembers: “My father bought me a sari, and two weeks later, he died. This sari is the cachet of this commitment with my father. Interesting that he should buy me a sari – a silk sari printed like my mother would have worn. When my mother’s saris was crashed, he had cut them off to make bush shirts for himself – it is the story – she embodies their stories, their austerity, their frugality and their elegance.
She remembers seeing the author Prema Srinivasan at a wedding on the beach in Chennai –
“I noticed from my mind; I did this sari and seven others for the Venkatgiri collection. A weaver from there paid me the greatest compliment – that he remembered the sari that his father wove, the same groups as, when they were wrapped, looked like a gold leaf. “”
