Chapter 7- NINA'S NANI & HER ANCHAL | NAYANIKA DAS

STORIES FROM OUR BARI | CHAPTER 7- NINA'S NANI & HER ANCHAL | NAYANIKA DAS

In the afternoon when the women of the house would have finished their chores, and retired to their respective rooms for bathing or 'taking their me time', a four-year-old Nina would be prancing around pretending to be someone else.

I would wrap my mother's dupatta around my waist, tie a knot with great difficulty, and throw the other end on my left shoulder just the way my Nani had taught me a few weeks ago. I would pretend to be Nani in a saree and try to skate like the big Didis I had seen speed skating at the badminton court in the Club. But seeing my reflection in the mirror, I was not happy because I could see my legs peeping underneath the saree; Nani’s leg didn’t show and the little Nina didn’t look like Nani!

So, to set things right, I made my way to Nani's room only to find it locked from inside. It was her bath time. So I decided to sit outside ready to wait till Nani finished her chores.

Much later in life, while spending intimate moments with a wheelchair-bound Nani, she told me she would clean her cupboard, exercise, oil her body, wash her undergarments and do skin care in this time.

That afternoon Nani opened the door upon my knocking and allowed me in. She was at the point where her cotton saree for the day was folded and kept on the bed. She was in her blouse and petticoat. She commented on my saree; I think we laughed and then she resumed from where she left. It was time to put on the saree.

Mesmerised by the handiwork of putting together the pleats and then neatly pleating her anchal, I watched her in awe. I wanted to wear my dupatta for a saree like that. I expressed my desire but Nani asked me to wait.

She then resumed her evening ritual. Lotion on her hands. Cream on her face. She sang aloud, let her hands dance round and round, neck and cheeks, forehead, nose, neck and end it with the palms. One last glance in the mirror and she was done.

It's your turn now she said. Pulling me closer, she tucked the dupatta in my little girl shorts, moved to the pleats, and I could feel her inching towards the accomplishment. She then swirled me in the dupatta, and magically there was anchal on my shoulder! She then added the finishing touch! A neat anchal. I looked at myself in the mirror, and felt accomplished. I looked like Nani now!

I went around the house, excited. I pretend-skated in the living room as my mother entered the room.
"oh ma! Amar chunni!" She claimed.
(Oh my! My dupatta!)

"Na, eita amar Sharee!" I screamed back.
(No, this is my saree)

Nani lingered in the background. She poured herself two glasses of water, as she religiously did between bath and lunch.

"Esho! Plates niye esho, Nina." (Come, get the plates, Nina) She said, least excited.

My play was over, Nina was no more Nani. Ma asked me to take the saree off. Lunch time with a four year old, could be a messy matter. She was not risking the health of her dupatta.

I fumbled with the cloth; a four-year-old doesn't understand the science behind the draping. Ma hurriedly pulled it out and in a second It was all gone. The perfect anchal was back to being a dupatta.

Year later, I still can't do my anchal right. It is usually just carelessly thrown over my shoulder. Perhaps I'll need Nani or maybe I'll need to become Nani to have my anchal right. None of that is happening, but every time I wear a saree, Nani crosses my mind. A memory, a moment, a piece of cloth.

Nina is wearing Mehr saree in the picture styled with a blouse from her personal collection.