the saga of the red saree

The weavers prob­a­bly wove their own sto­ries into the gold threads that em­broi­der this deep red silk cloth in hopes to adorn a beau­ti­ful bride full of love and hope. In fif­teen years, these yards chose to weave their own tales that are now hid­den be­hind its each crease and fold. The red is rich­er, the gold brighter, and more beau­ti­ful than ever before.

I gen­tly take her in my arms. She feels heavy, preg­nant with the weight of be­ing with me all these years. Re­mem­ber­ing our first night to­geth­er wrapped tight­ly around my body, cov­er­ing all its im­per­fec­tions and fears to the stark con­trast of be­ing stripped and be­ing ex­posed, con­fused and sad, mor­ti­fied and angry.

I un­fold her and throw her up in the air. Af­ter all this time, she fi­nal­ly breathes. Won­ders if I want to be cap­tive again in her twists and turns that trans­form my body from what it tru­ly is, to a di­vine or­na­ment for some­one else, to be peeled off and dis­re­gard­ed again.

Not this time. Not any­more. She is her own be­ing as am I. And as we spend an af­ter­noon to­geth­er in con­ver­sa­tion, tears, and laugh­ter, I re­al­ize my jour­ney has not end­ed. My sto­ries are yet to be writ­ten. To be weaved into the cloth that will now fol­low each curve of my body, to pro­tect and to free what is in­evitably mine.

—mala paul

A huge thanks to my dear­est friend and amaz­ing­ly tal­ent­ed pho­tog­ra­ph­er, Michelle Mc­Daid from Mem­o­ries by Michelle, for join­ing me in this tête-à-tête and doc­u­ment­ing this so per­fect­ly. What an hon­or to be the first per­son to be fea­tured in her But­ter­fly Project. You can read more about it here.

Flom­mist Mala Paul is a pro­tégé of the god­dess of ten hands. Form to form­less all in a day’s job. A moth­er, de­sign­er, dancer, food­ie, fash­ion­ista, blog­ger, who is al­ways ready to be the change. Copy­right © 2016 Mala Paul. All rights reserved. 

MOR D’ARTÍCULOS  MOR FLOMM !

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