I never liked silken clothes. The thing was they were highly impractical. In summer one wilted in them feeling warm, and uncomfortable. In winters it was totally the opposite. One shivered in them feeling cold. They wouldn’t keep one warm.
On wedding occasions if you didn’t wear silk you felt odd one out among the women folk. All would be wearing shinning new silken clothes. On many occasions I got glances from the other guests for being comfortably clad in cotton in winters, or lawn clothes in summer.
Wearing silk in winters was a dilemma. The clothes clinged to the body, because of the static in them. Another thing is spending money on dry cleaning them – you can’t wash them. Once washed they lose the shinning look, and look like rags.
While ironing them, I had to take care not to damage them. I recently burnt a shalwar while getting ready to attend a wedding. I had to scoure the market for the same shade of color, and not getting it. I had to buy it in white, and had to pay exorbitant amount to have it dyed in the shade I needed.
I know I will never get to like silk clothes. To me it is a waste of money.
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
Daily Prompt: Let’s Dance
What are your earliest and fondest memories of dance?
Image Credit: Internet
My earliest memories of dancing are, when I attended Mehndi and Wedding get togethers of family and friends.
Normally in Muslim culture, dancing is frowned upon. It is forbidden.
When weddings come around, to add to the extravaganza and fun, the groom’s family do put on a dancing show. No wedding is complete, unless there is dancing included. At that moment religious injunctions are totally forgotten and put aside.
There is ear splitting music. You have sumptuous food on the table, waiting for the guests. Women and girls, all wear glittering clothes and jewelry. The guests assembled are entertained by dancing. The dancing seems to go on for hours. The hosts forget that enough dancing has been done. The poor guests are waiting for the food to be served, so that they can escape back to their homes.
You get tired sitting on the chairs, and take your leave. You are wise, if you grab food from the eateries on the way back. Otherwise, you reach home tired and hungry, and search your own fridge for food.
Memories of Dancing
Most of the time I land up with certain colors in my dresses. They are white, followed by grey, then green and finally blue. Sometimes in a year I may be getting more whites or greys and so on. I like to use hundred percent cotton or say my skin is more comfortable in cotton otherwise it itches. Those silken dresses I am “forced” to buy for weddings and parties are the norm in my country, and so I try to conform myself. I wear them for the specific occasion and then they hang unused in the closet. Later on I gave them away if they hang for a longer period and I won’t use them.
Occasionally I love some of my dresses and I can’t part with them. This grey dress comes into that category. The shirt is in net with beautiful embellishments and the shalwar (trouser) and dupatta is silk. When I wore the dress it looked good on me or say it in a another way I looked good in it. What conceit!
I wore that dress for quite a number of occasions. I was sitting in a corner of a Banquet Hall used for weddings, waiting for the festivities to begin. As usual my “dear, darling” husband with his penchant for “on time” had brought me there. Even the “Hosts” had not arrived. I used to dread those occasions, waiting for the festivities to began, the endless songs and dances, the ear splitting music and the video men trying to videotape you when you are trying to hide your face. I used to be mad at them, for goodness sake I am not even a close relative, so why are you bothering me in the first place.
To get back to the actual story I was sitting bored, wishing in my heart to be back home when this lady came from the back. She hugged and kissed me. She sat in the chair next to me and exclaimed, ” I recognized you from the dress otherwise I wouldn’t have known it was you.” I realized much later, to my chagrin that I wore the same dress to the same family’s weddings for the third time in a row.