KANAKAVALLI JOURNAL

Back in the day, when the kanjivaram was the everyday – almost obvious – garment of choice, its wearers formed with it a relationship so personal and affable; there was a certain rigour combined with a sense of ease that typified the way they wore and tended to the sari, the kanjivaram in particular.

Nearly 24 years ago, just as I turned 16, my mother bought me a kanjivaram sari – a copper sulphate blue with fine zari all over its body and a thin border. They say that every kanjivaram is a seamless weave of memories that we make our own.

Zari, and people’s obsession with it, got me thinking about how we, as a community, and perhaps a culture, are obsessed over the idea of material. And that material unfortunately has become the prime determinant of price.

On my side of the Vindhyas, the colour black isn’t exactly auspicious. Yet, it occupies pride of place on certain very important occasions in the life of a woman. The Seemantham ceremony, for instance.

In the context of classical dance, Bharatanatyam to be specific, a korvai is basically a dance sequence comprising two components. Korvais also find a place in the world of music, especially instrumental, and refer to structured rhythmic patterns that are usually a part of a performance, lending to it, a sense of grace and grandeur.

Within the very classic and classy world of the Kanjivaram, there exist two very interesting interpretations — the checks (Kattam, in Tamil) and the stripes (Vari, in Tamil). And even though we recognise these two manifestations instantly, it is interesting how they find articulations in the Kanjivaram palette.