My experiences with a five and a half metre long wonder
How funny it is, to be outwitted by an inanimate thing, which is by no means more powerful than you, neither any such ferocious creature to speak of, that too time and again. I am talking about my wonderful experiences with that 6 yard wonder, the sari, of course. I never knew the sari to be so powerful that it could outsmart me. Oh, how was I to bear the disgrace, of being powerless before its might, that too once every week. It so happens that B-schools, especially the one, where I studied felt that the Sari is a dress suiting the corporate culture to a T. Hence, they had it mandatory that every Thursday should be a formal day, when everyone should come to college, dressed in formal attire, which translated into wearing the sari every Thursday; for the lady students. God, how I feared Thursdays, how I feared the running around from room to room, which was a part of every Thursday morning, to find one of those experts who could help me wear the sari. Oh, words cannot describe the helplessness I felt; when I would find that no expert from the sari consultancy was free. It was no small tension for me, as to whether I would be able to reach college in time. And to think that I was a person, who felt, I would never don a sari all my life. MBA indeed seems to be teaching me new things. And what really made me feel a fool was the fact that almost everyone there (in my college) seemed to be bent upon getting into the Guinness Book of World Records for not having even a single crease on their (cotton ) saris, or better still, for showing others what perfection in sari donning is. It used to be nothing less than a sari wearing competition every Thursday out there. What all troubles those poor souls undertaook to come out first in this non-existent competition cannot be described by words. Words will be powerless to explain the marvelous efforts they put into this. Indeed, their heart and soul went into the thing. And think of poor me, who was content with wearing a sari, in such a way, that it remotely resembles a sari, and can be given the name of sari. But my make up women were not so content and spent their own valuable time, in dressing me up to perfection, paying no heed to my protests. What is more, afterwards these people tried to make me wear cotton saris. But I put my foot down. This is where I drew the line, wearing a sari without having the heart for it, and walking as if I was going to fall down at any instant was one thing, subjecting myself to the torture of donning a cotton sari was quite another.For one thing, poor me doesn’t know how to iron properly. Had some one kindly informed the experts of this fact, maybe, just maybe, they would have let me live in peace, but at the same time, helped me out every Thursday. :). Cheers.