War wounds

So the festive season is here which means the ladies have gotten their saris together. I've spoken about my sari woes before but I'm happy to report that I can now manage to drape one but with the assistance of my husband to make the pleats. Now it's one thing to be able to drape one but it's quite another to carry off one with grace. The good thing is that an Indian woman truly looks beautiful in this yards long fabric, but the other side of it is that someone like me struggles hard to keep from becoming quite the opposite. After a couple of hours of deciding which side the pleats should be (despite having gotten a tutorial from Sameera) and managing a safety pin in place for the pallu (which was too long and trailed behind me) it took me five minutes to get settled into the passenger seat of the car.

The party at Phani's place was rocking with everyone turned out in all their Diwali finery. For the first time I noticed how creative the ladies are with their blouses. Gorgeous necklines and fabrics perfectly draped was a pleasure to see. My blouse sleeve kept sliding off till a helpful soul taught me how to keep it in place when I complained,"Everything is falling off." Yes there's a simple trick to it. You need to pull it down at the waist. Thank you helpful soul, wish I'd remembered to ask your name.

The kids had a party going on their own with strobe lights, Macbook and DJ gear. Most women managed to keep their saris in place and dance to the beat of dhinchak hindi music. I didn't care how much my feet were killing me. I danced and had a great time though my pallu tore a little bit in my heel. My husband joined me in the beginning and then left saying,"I need to drink water." Yeah right! The boys seemed to be content with the drinks but the women took to the floor like fish to water. There was this one absolutely beautiful and elegant woman (No I never got around to speaking to her) who had wine in one hand, her purse in the other and her pallu wasn't safety pinned and she danced with such fantastic poise and elegance that I could have saluted her. Bravo!

By the end of the evening despite getting out of my shoes several times my toes were beginning to feel like mashed potatoes. I walked home with my arm around Anshuman's shoulder like a drunk person yelping,"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! My feet hurt! My feet hurt! My feet hurt!" My darling husband smiled and said,"Baby these are war wounds for being the most beautiful woman in the room."