Saturday Saree 2/3

Got home from SS MEET. Put away afternoon’s lunch. One daughter buried in an assignment, the other taking classes for little ones, prepping them for Navarathri performances, husband gardening.

Rested, had a cuppa tea. And for the rest too, felt bad as all were hard at work, so teas – no sugar, 2 sugars, condensed milk, fresh milk.

Got ready for evening dinner at friends’ home.

Draped a simple beige cotton silk with olive green and gold borders and pallu.

Cajoled daughter to click a shot or two.

Delicious spread of Andhra dishes courtesy my amazing friend -potato, brinjal, pumpkin, sambar/spiced lentil stew, paruppu/lentils, tindora/ivy gourd, embellished further with ghee, gongura pickle, slices of ginger mango in lime juice, puli satham, creamy payasam.

Watched photos from friend’s recent trip overseas. Conversation that evening was about Mount Kailash, Lake Manasarovar, Tibet, Nepal, Kathmandu, the Dalai Lama, Buddhism, Hinduism, China..made for an interesting evening.

Extremely full, tummy, heart and soul, and because it’d been a long day, drowsed off, on and off. In mid conversation. Actually managed to wake up, answer a question or too, add some seemingly intelligent remark and doze off again. Friend wanted to offer me coffee or green tea. Politely declined saying anything would take me further into La La Land.

Got home way past midnight.

Straight to bed. Absolutely wonderful eventful Saturday.

I have worn,this weekend, three sarees. Amazing feat.

Saturday Saree 1/3.

Saree Speak Meet day.

Also Puratassi Sani Day.

Received a Whatsapp message from mum asking me to fast, pray. Had to get up quite early as a friend was taking my car in for service. Cooked for family, got ready for SS MEET, fetched Shakthi Jeyashankar, and got to the India Gate restaurant.

Draped this sunny yellow and parrot green silk with kantha work, embroidered flowers and leaves to herald in Spring. The Theme of the meet.

Blouse is embroidered green. Saree gifted by a dear friend. Accessories -my anticipation of a wonderful afternoon ahead 😂and my smile 😊, common accessories for all Sakhis.

On parking, met the beautiful Kanika Diesh, whose warm aura I love and dry wit, I admire. Was met by gorgeous organisers Gargi Trivedi, Aaditi Pandit and Debbie Debanjali.

Sat at a table with Kanika and her lovely friends.

An afternoon to remember.

Met old Sakhis Sushila Iyer, Kirithika Kiki, Anupama Handebagh; made new friends, Deepti Zantye, Priyanka, Rajeshwari, Sri Devi, Sonia Ahuja, Swati, and so many Sakhis.

Icebreakers, games galore with on the spot prizes. Enchanting Dance performances by Gargi Trivedi and Rachna Sethi. Ladies danced, chatted, ate their fill from a sumptuous buffet of breads, rice, curries, salad, pappadam and sweets.

And lots and lots of photos, in front of varied backdrops of flowers, lights, cars, the restaurant’s feature wall, anything and everything.

All in all, an afternoon well spent.

A room of ladies from all parts of India, from various corners of the world, some of whom were meeting for the very first time.

And yet, who managed to mix and mingle because of a single uniting factor – their love for the elegant classic drape, our Saree.

Thank you organisers and Sakhis.

Looking forward to the next SS Meet – #allindiassmeet? On the 30th of November.

Probably may have to be renamed #globalssmeet 😂🤣❤️. — with Gargi Trivedi and 12 others.

Rose before dawn as a friend was taking my car in for service. Made my usual steaming cup of Nespresso, strong Kazar, no sugar, hot milk. Amazing how one is able to relish the coffee sugarless. Proud of myself. Still working on my condensed milk tea though. Big day today. Cooking lunch for family. Saree Speak Meet. Temple. Dinner at a a friend’s home. Tomorrow my little ones are performing at a senior citizens’ meet organised by friend Dr. Anju.

Had a great week at work. Training, teaching is an art, a skill. My love and gratitude to all Gurus out there, angels amongst us. Whatever you teach. How to make curd rice, coffee, how to play a krithi, how to use a screenreader on a smartphone, how to be an Okay individual.

Knowing what to teach, how to impart the knowledge, how to know how little is too little, how much is too much, how to engage with students from ages 5 to 103; how to strike the rapport, how to know what it would take to get that spark alive, that glimmer of hope on the face, that smile of satisfaction. That moment when student realises ‘I can do it!’. That’s priceless. That opens up a whole world of possibilities. For me. For them. Sometime I think Hope is the most important attitude or feeling, because with fresh hope, comes gratitude, joy, and a thirst for more great things, more beauty, more good.

A student told me she had this dream of achieving something, I emphasised to her not to stop dreaming. Dreams are good. Dreams get you places. Dreams keep you going. Dreams become realities. I told her about a saying that I have been living by, whispered to me by a friend from my childhood, still my friend, and my daughter’s dance guru, Vasuki, a sishya of the famed Dhananjayans, a quote by Langdon Hughes,

“Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life becomes a one-winged bird that cannot fly”.

The hope, dreams, beliefs one has for another too, can become contagious. At the end of the lesson, the teacher, the room, the student, her mother were basking in the bright, sunny, starry aura of hope. I saw the smile on the mother’s face, especially in her eyes, laughing and crinkled, and I thought, this is what it means to feel God/Divinity/by whatever Name one wants to refer to It – this overwhelming feeling of happiness, love, gratitude, hope, not necessarily in that order.

Got home, Mami had cancelled class as she was having a Puja. No cooking required, I’d been invited for dinner.

Draped this gorgeous turquoise striped silk, with green grey pallu and borders for a lovely dinner with friend Vathsala. Gifted by a friend many Navarathris ago. Got younger daughter to take photos before leaving the house. Hair is turning white, eyes are tired but who cares? Bonded over delightful conversations of dance, music, students, upcoming Navarathri, Kolus; and soft iddlis, crispy dosas, delicious sambar, iddli podi, chutney, cutlets, vege curry, rounded off with the mandatory amazing curd rice and hot made pickle. Life’s really good.

Last Friday was Purnima. An exhausting but extremely fulfilling day at work with four clients, paperwork, reports, travel etc. Came home spent. Hot cuppa tea WITH CONDENSED MILK and Charukesi raga got me rejuvenated a little.

Suresh had made the aviyal. Told me about debacle when I got home. He had got all ingredients ground then was going to use mixie to make mor/spiced buttermilk for himself and Vindhya. Just in case you are wondering, both are on uni break. The lid flew off, and yoghurt splashed everywhere. Literally. EVERYWHERE. Onto the myriad little artefacts on window sill, the Nespresso machine, the key holder, the floor. Thank my lucky stars I was at work and only arrived when the place was spotless.

Anyway, got home, made coconut and sesame rice; chakka prathaman/jackfruit payasam and adai/lentil pancakes to go with the delicious aviyal.

Puja done, guests sat together to partake of prasadam, lovely stimulating chat. Varying topics. Michael Jackson. AR Rahman and the Berkeley Indian Ensemble. Composing music in layers. Visualisation of entire piece in the mind. How individuals compose music or do an artistic endeavour. The Me Too movement, Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein. Men are from Mars, Women from Venus. Silly Indian movies. Art films. The thinking person’s movies.

Wow, the Full Moon really did work its magic on us last night.

Photos show me hastily clicked by daughter after guests had left. No leftovers, everyone had enjoyed the meal, house and puja room set in order, dishwasher loaded.

Draped in a bright yellow cotton Saree, with blue and gold borders and pallu, body comprising huge flame and gold flower buttis, flame stripes. Blouse is flame and yellow checked, with blue and gold bordered sleeves. My war paint had faded off being the witching hour, but click I must for Saree Speak. Two identical? Photos. Let’s play Spot the Differences. 😜. Happy Purnima, Happy Onam all. Wishing you Love. Light. Joy. Peace. Bliss. Beauty. And all that is good.

After a long long time, this is one Saturday I believe I don’t have to rush through. At this point in time, that’s the straw that I clutch on to.

Had to get up early, hubby and daughter are off to a town a 1.5 hours drive away, to conduct dance examinations. Am seated with a steaming hot Nespresso Ristretto coffee, glued to the iPad in the hope of getting some long overdue posts up and running.

I said ‘not having to rush through’. That does not equate to ‘relax’. On the contrary, a few feet away lies a laundry basket of, yes, just that, clean, unfolded laundry. Clothes. Girls have been doing their share but it piles up anyway. It’s like these dinosaur egg toys you get off the counters as you approach the tellers to pay for your groceries. Drop them in water and hey presto, a dinosaur supposedly is born.

Clothes left at the bottom of the laundry basket, a single sock, a hanky, miraculously multiply into a brimming basket of pyjamas, sweaters, skivvies, tops. Note however, that in the regenerative process, the other sock is never found. I used to leave unmatched socks at the bottom of the basket, steadfastly believing that the other prodigal sock would ‘turn up’. Never.

I now place said sock in relevant owner’s drawer. And no one complains, in fact I see wearers donning unmatched socks. Alright maybe not so unmatched – light grey with dark grey or light black with dark black. Blacks do have different shades, if you are into sock research like me, you would know.

So after working through said pile, OCD me will have to vacuum, dust, etc. etc. Timetables have been drawn up in Saturday’s entry of my house diary. Yes, I do have a house diary and am not ashamed of it. Own up, ladies, how many of you have a diary at work, a calendar on work phone, a diary at home, a calendar on personal phone, a tiny diary in their handbag? Having said that, diary which has its place of honour on breakfast bench, goes into pantry cupboard when visitors arrive.

Hold on, family are leaving doors open, getting shoes and phew are off. No wait, frantic banging on door. Someone’s forgotten the mobile. Have said customary ‘Drive safe, Drive slow, Stop for a coffee, See you later. Looking good. Love yous.’

And the house is MINE.

The other member is ensconced in bedroom, under her quilt and will not see the light of day for another few hours after which she will have to help me with the garden.

The garden. A sad state of affairs after winter. Lotus buds are peeping from a sad makeshift pond, husband will transfer to a new ceramic pond; Thulasi plants, jasmines and fragile plants placed under frost tarpaulins will have to be moved back to their original positions. Instructions given politely by husband who probably knows I have a great day planned, after housework.

Human nature, unspoken rule of thumb, when one sees family member on device or watching Netflix/YouTube with earphones, that is the absolute correct moment to rattle off list of chores, which family member is not listening to and if had heard, is anyway not going to complete.

Enough said. Off for another coffee, maybe some toasted cheese sandwich, then chores, chores, chores, and then..that will be another post altogether.

Draped in a rich white kanjivaram, from my wedding trousseau 26+ years ago, with heavy deep magenta and gold borders and pallu. Saree has gold buttis. Matched with another kanjivaram’s silk blouse. Added an antique chain with a peacock pendant. Part of a Krishna Jayanthi themed Carnatic Music Orchestra . Couldn’t get single shots so these will have to do.

Saturday was a day well spent. Rose early even though the week had been quite hectic. Standard chores, folding clothes, dusting, wiping, cooking.
Left for Hamilton, an hour and a half drive out of Auckland,for Sutra Dance Academy’s Dance Programme.
Husband, being Guest of Honour, an academician and a chartered accountant, spoke about what employers look for when recruiting, the importance of the creativity quotient, and the ideal role parents should play in supporting their children’s artistic pursuits.
Students displayed amazing prowess when doing adavus, dance items.
Kudos to dance teacher Melanie Jeyakumar, for not straying from Kalakshetra Parampara.
Evening ended with a vegetarian buffet spread, lots of photos, chatting with friends, dance students and parents and a long quiet drive home.
Photos of me in a deep magenta kanjivaram with shocking pink borders and pallu (worn before). Gold mangoes on borders and pallu.
These photos were taken as part of a barter trade with my second one. I took 50 plus shots of her, and she 4 of me. 😂

Krishna Janmashtami. Jayanthi. Birth. Celebrated worldwide. The darling baby, adolescent, adult of mischief, romance, love, beauty.
Was unwell the day before with a fever and recurring throat infection. But who can say no to the pleasures of Krishna Janmashtami?
With endless Himalayan salt gargles, hot samahans, paracetamol popping, our Krishna Janmashtami at home was doable.
Krithis, bhajans, abhangs, music resounded through the home, while the family set up the altar, got the fruits, milk shopping done, and I bustled about in my haven. Made a few dishes for dinner for orchestra participants who were going to be in my home from 2pm until 9pm or after?
Got Baby Krishna’s footprints done. Played over the story I was going to tell the younger ones. ‘That Krishna had toddled to the front door, jumped up Ganesha’s table at the entrance, said Hello to Ganesha and the Thai musicians, then had headed straight to the kitchen. He’d climbed up onto the stove, got disappointed finding nothing He liked, then visited the Altar room’.
Rested a bit while Anusha handled the violin and flute rehearsal.
Changed into a double toned purple and blue cotton silk with royal blue and gold borders and pallu embellished with Swans. Gifted by Geetha Arun, a dear friend.
Made Milo for the youngsters rehearsing. Filled dispenser with freshly brewed sweet milk tea. Anupama helped set up table for dinner. Moms brought dishes too.
Then off for rehearsals 4 to 6, brief puja, aarthi, then dinner till 7.45; rehearsals again until 9pm.
Children watched Netflix while waiting for parents to fetch them, as I packed some takeaway boxes, one daughter and I cleaned house, loaded dishwasher etc. The other worked with some orchestra participants on their individual parts.
All left before midnight.
What a day!
As I folded my Saree, and left it to air, I gave thanks for a Krishna Janmashtami of blissful organized chaos?!🙊🤣
More salt gargles, manuka honey/lemon drinks and panadol popping.

One woman, myriad roles. Seemingly seamless morphing from one to the other, shreds of one manifestation latching onto the other. Mother, wife, daughter, employee, manager, friend, leader, instructor, student, teacher, musician, artiste, performer. When a teacher, sticky bits of mum are difficult to remove, like chewing gum caught in hair. A teacher also encapsulates within herself her student avatar in order to engage with the one being taught. When a student, all remnants of ego must be cast aside to absorb the gift of the teacher. Difficult as blobs of self professed artiste still remain. With a wife, familiarity and being comfortable turns this into friendship, kinship at the expense of romance. And a mum has dabs of daughter, to understand her children. No one role is independent of another – No role is mutually exclusive.
Much like Sarees. A silk thread, cotton thread, gold thread, a warp thread here, a weft yarn there – proportions of parts making a whole, and each whole, each fabric, each role a unique one yet formed from an amalgamation of these individual parts.
Draped this orange, green bordered Pune cotton for my class. Matched with a brown orange checkered cotton blouse. (Saree presented by a friend as an arangetram/seemantham/valaikappu (performance/baby shower) gift on 20th December 1993. In my 7th month of pregnancy, my baby shower was held in the morning, and in the evening a 3 hour performance).

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Over the past few years, NZCMS members have had the wonderful opportunity of listening to many esteemed Vidwans and Vidushis. Performances, workshops, lecture demonstrations were held, mesmerising audiences with flawless vocals or fingering and bowing techniques. These maestros brought out nuances and beauty in ragas and compositions, maintaining clarity and ensuring that each gamaka and akara had its specific place in the whole scheme of the music. In a deceptively simple manner, they charmed their way into the hearts and souls of the NZCMS members.

At the end of every such kutcheri , audible sighs would invariably be heard throughout the auditorium from aspiring musicians wondering whether they would ever reach the heights attained by these maestros. As the euphoria of the music would wear off, despair would set in, causing one to doubt whether as an aspiring musician, one would even be on the scale, let alone be climbing it.
It is quite natural for one to feel this sense of inadequacy on listening to accomplished musicians perform. It is also natural to yearn for the talent that they possess. But rest assured, this yearning in itself is a step in the right direction. In music students, this feeling of inadequacy should spark a sense of motivation rather than a sense of dejection. One may or may not have been born with talent, but this spark must be nurtured. It must be fanned until it becomes a flame, then the fire that burns would light up its surroundings and everyone who comes in its path.
The beauty of an art form is that it is so deep and rich, that it provides infinite avenues for improvement. None can lay claim to exhausting the study of an art form and reaching the end of the scale. Even great musicians would humbly accept that they are still students and have much more to learn.
Music students, young and not so young, when overwhelmed by this sense of dejection or inadequacy, must not worry that they may not be on par with these maestros on the musical scale. Instead, they should feel proud that they too are on the scale. Aspiring students should feel privileged that they have already been given the inclination and aptitude to study music and that very blessing would propel them forward on the musical scale. The rate of progress however depends on arduous practice, fuelled by single-minded perseverance.
Many a time, one tends to think that the maestros we meet on our path of musical discovery have perfected their art easily, as if by a stroke of luck. If one were to ask any musician, there would be no shortage of tales of waking up in the wee hours of the morning and sacrifices made to perfect the art. These are in fact not mere tales but testimonies of the hard work that is required to achieve the siddhi that the art form empowers one with. As Chitraveena Sri Ravikiran so aptly puts it (in the 2006 Sruti Ranjani magazine),
“[There is no substitute for practice], not even talent or genius, knowledge or scholarship, luck or God’s grace included. There are umpteen talented and even brilliant people who are leading unfulfilled or under-fulfilled lives on their failure to translate their talent into tangible results….And the lucky ones are forever unhappy with their guilt about having something that they probably don’t deserve and also live with the insecurity as to how long their luck would hold….One who has not practised is not in control. With perseverance and practice, one can overcome the lack of talent or genius or knowledge or scholarship or luck, and can indeed do much better than others”.
He further goes on to say of the many types of practice from an end-result point of view: Succinctly, the objective of practice could be any thing from polish to perfection, to attainment of confidence or for sheer pleasure.
As aspiring musicians, our admiration of eminent musicians should not only be for their achievements but also for their sacrifices. When one realises that, progress is assured. Then, it is only a matter of time before one scales the pinnacle.
Music is a religion. What essentially is religion? It is a way of life. So as a music student, one must make music one’s religion, a way of life. The only way to progress in music is to implicitly follow its principles and rules taught by the chosen guru. The more one devotes oneself to music, the more music will elevate one on the musical ladder. And when this devotion comes, practice will no longer be a chore but a habit. Then, one practices not out of compulsion but for the sheer love of music, for the love of the tonal quality of the instrument or voice, for the love of the melody in the music and for the love of the meaning behind the sahitya (lyrics). And when one reaches that stage, know then, that one is definitely on the arohanam or upward ascent of the musical scale.
NZCMS SANGEETH UTSAV 2009 SOUVENIR MAGAZINE.

I love stories. Reading them. Writing them. Retelling them.
I was told by a dear friend who’d read some of my stories that they had quite identifiable characters.
So I tried creating new ones but always, always, some nuance, some characteristic, gave some character away.
And then one day I realised.
When one creates, be it a piece of artwork, a music score, a tale, that creation, composition, always bears one’s stamp. One offloads baggage, good, bad, light, heavy onto one’s creation, making it honest, sincere, true, heartfelt. Making it one’s own. Because it comes from one’s innards, the depths of one’s soul, a result of much soul searching. And because one bares oneself, there are others who are attracted as moths to a flame, because they see something of themselves in that piece of work, because it is relatable.
And then one day I read an autobiography of a favourite author and in it, she let me in on what made her her, and from it I understood how her much loved books had been written, drawn from her experiences growing up, of her mother, her community, her country. Rags, sarees, blankets, sheets, folded in cupboards of her being, every so often rummaging amongst them to bring out a weave. Weaves that add to the complex tapestry of a tale.

And I felt my Beliefs Reinforced. Justified. Understood.

So here I am then, draped in a silk weave, royal blue with olive green and gold borders and pallu. Designs of Veenas on borders. Perfect for a music award ceremony in which my students were amongst the award recipients.

My smile mirrors the fact that I have a myriad weaves within me, being paired and combined, discarded and picked up again, each as important as the other, waiting, just waiting to be revealed.