Six Yards To Elegance
The sari is fast disappearing from the London social scene. Indian women of a certain age turn up at parties in ‘kurtis’ and cigarette pants. On top of that, the custom of calling everyone by their first names scrubs out age gaps and helps foster the illusion of youth (if you want to rile someone up, try addressing her as ‘aunty’). But age shows, no matter how thin she is. It’s a case of mutton dressed as lamb. Some have abandoned Indian outfits altogether and wear only frocks. The ubiquitous black pantsuit in winter makes me feel as though I am at a perpetual funeral. The sari is one of the last bastions of national dress left in the world. I for one love their innumerable colours and textures and weaves and make it a point to wear saris in jewelled tones to black-tie dinners.