Every morning a crisp, starched sari pampers me with calm caress... I arrange its pleats with nimble fingers, let it clasp my waist, drape me in grace... let the pallu fall in synchronized folds from my shoulder.
It gives me the right amount of grip and a flowing freedom lifts my step to a measured purpose.
By the day's end the sari crumples, unfolds to a formless length on my person.
I pull it tight, use it to dry my hands and wipe my sweaty brow.
I mellow in its cotton. It takes to me like an understanding lover.