A Trip Down Gastronomy Lane

It is an old-fashioned, nondescript narrow street in Indore, just like any other in several towns and cities across India. But what sets it apart from the rest is the extraordinary culinary experience that is on offer here. The less-than-one- kilometre stretch that starts from behind the Rajwada--a stunningly beautiful mansion belonging to the Holkar dynasty, survived only by its facade today--exists in the densely packed, old part of the city; characterized by little lanes criss-crossing each other. These lanes are home to a variety of bazaars, where both sides of the lane are lined with shops selling pots and pans, fabrics and sarees, stationery and jewellery. So there is a Bartan bazaar, a Cloth Market, a Khajuri bazaar and a Sarafa.

Sarafa was originally meant to be a jewellery market. When the jewellers shut shop for the day, the savoury and sweet makers took over and set their wares up on the platforms outside the closed shops. Well, that must have been how the present Sarafa came into being. Now the jewellery shops and eateries sit side by side, all vying for the customers' attention through the day (and night in case of the eateries). The food outlets are open during the day, but they really come alive in the evening.

My earliest memories of visiting the Sarafa are with a dear uncle (Shantaram Kaka) on his bicycle. I remember going there as a little girl with him and being treated to my favourite samosa from the Samosa Corner, along with other things. We did this routine very often and it is still fresh in my memory four decades later. The shop exists at the same place and is in the same condition even today. I make it a point to go there at least once whenever I am in Indore. The crispy triangles stuffed with spicy potato filling are served piping hot, fresh from the pan, with two chutneys--a green one made with coriander leaves and chillies and a brown one made with tamarind. You stand on the street outside the tiny stall, place your order and the guy places a hot samosa on a piece of newspaper, makes a dent in it,  fills the depression caused by the dent with the hot and tangy chutneys and hands the concoction to you. When you bite into this offering, all your taste buds come alive and the samosa disappears leaving a zesty aftertaste in your mouth.

Just across the street is another establishment, Vijay Chaat House. Their USP is something called patties. The credit for introducing this delicacy goes to the owners of this eatery. Most people in Indore refer to it as 'paytis' and are most probably unaware that patties is the plural form of a patty. These are balls where the stuffing is made of coconut along with some spices, and the coating is made of potato. They are then deep fried and served hot with chutneys. The owners seem to be a big family of several brothers, all of them having a fair complexion and dressed in spotless white kurtas. When I went to this place last month, I saw a fair-skinned young lad in his early twenties, sporting the familiar white kurta, busy frying a big batch of matar patties, a variant where the coconut is replaced by peas. Ah, the next generation has joined the family business! As he takes the fresh batch out of the frying pan, it is lapped up by eager customers waiting on the street. No stale or refried food anywhere in the sarafa. The big kadahis are out there for everyone to see, along with platters full of freshly moulded balls, ready to be fried.
 

Further down the street is an outlet of repute specializing in dahivada and bhutte ka kees. It is simply known by the last name of the owner--Joshi. People flock here for the giant dahivada that is large enough for a mini-meal. Deep fried vadas have been softened by dipping them in water and then squeezing them. They are heaped in a big container. When you place an order, the person serving them tosses a vada high up in the air, catches it with great elan, puts it in a bowl, douses it with delectable dahi,  tops it with some spices and chutneys, and presents this absolutely irresistible, melt-in-the-mouth dish to you. The dahi in the vada soothes you while the spices tease you, making the vada-eating a roller-coaster-like experience.

My other favourite here is bhutte ka kees which can be loosely translated as corn-upma, though I must admit that it is a very tame term and does not convey the attributes of this preparation with the respect it deserves. It is served with a topping of freshly squeezed lemon juice, a very special Rajasthani spice called jeeravan and fresh green coriander leaves. The moment you take a spoonful of this delightful stuff into your mouth, a melange of slightly sweet, sour, hot and salty tastes hits you, turning it into an 'Aha' moment.

Then there is spicy sabudane kee khichadi, kachoris stuffed with daal or potato or peas or corn, each variety having its own fan club, aloo tikiyas fried in ghee, served with only chutneys or chhole, fried garadu ( a type of yam) in winters, daal-baafla (a Marwari speciality), and a whole lot more.


Foodies with a sweet tooth can indulge too. There are several delicacies to choose from. But sweets are not my priority when I go to the sarafa. Among the popular sweets are gulab jamuns, jalebis served with hot milk, rabdi (thick evaporated milk), gajar ka halwa (in winters), kulfi and shikanji ( a very rich preparation with evaporated milk and dry fruits) along with a host of barfis and laddoos. People are seen relishing these until late into the night. I have not been to these shops early in the morning, but I am told that jalebis with hot milk are favoured by many for breakfast too!

Most of the eating in the sarafa takes place while standing in the congested street, with vehicles and pedestrians passing by, and hot fumes from the frying making the air even hotter. For those who cannot stand the heat and the dust, an alternative exists in the newer part of the city. Called Chhappan Dukaan, it is a market with 56 shops, where many of the sarafa eateries have opened an outlet. One can enjoy the sarafa specialities in a cleaner environment there. It is a fine place and I have gone there several times, but once a sarafa loyalist, always a sarafa loyalist! For me, a trip to Indore is not complete without a visit to my dear old sarafa.

Map Your World!

Photo by Google

My son Prateek just returned from Google Asia-Pacific Geo Community Summit held in Singapore. He has been a regular contributor to Google Map Maker. Google acknowledges the support of its most active contributors by inviting them to such conferences. Two years ago, Prateek had been to one in Bangalore. Both Bangalore and Singapore summits have been pleasant experiences for him. He has written a piece about the Singapore conference. I am happy to share it here.

Let me start with what Map Maker ( www.google.com/mapmaker ) is. Basically, it is like an editable version of Google Maps. Everyone is editing a single, global, public map, and not their own private maps. Data from Map Maker is copied over into Google Maps, so a lot of the data you see in Google Maps is actually contributed by individuals, and not obtained from a commercial mapping source. Map Maker has been particularly useful in mapping countries where good commercial data did not exist. Map Maker is useful in mapping disaster-hit areas too. This is of great help during rescue operations.

It was a joint conference for Map Maker, Panoramio (a site where people upload geolocated photos, which are then displayed in Google Maps, and which complement the street view), and 3D modellers (people who model 3D buildings, again shown in street view). I was there for Map Maker and so were most of the other participants. Though we communicate with each other over forums and bug trackers, meeting in person was very different and much more satisfying. We were a nice mix of people of different ages, pursuing different professions and belonging to diverse countries such as India, Pakistan, Philippines, Sri Lanka, Laos, Cambodia, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Bangladesh, Iran, Indonesia, Japan, Saudi Arabia and Australia. Some of the organisers had come all the way from Google headquarters in Mountain View, California.

The venue of the event was Resorts World on Sentosa Island, a touristy place in the south of Singapore. Sentosa Island seems to have some sort of special status, for example there are entry fees to enter Sentosa by any mode of transport (walking, monorail, bus, taxi, personal car, and cable car), and transport inside Sentosa is free.

The conference began on 30th March afternoon/evening, with a river cruise through the central business district. The riverfront was very well-maintained. Here one could actually see the river, walk along it, etc - as opposed to the many years of living in Delhi where the Yamuna seems to exist only "in the abstract", an entity that one sees on maps and occasionally crosses on bridges without actually seeing any water. The India-Pakistan match began when we were on the cruise, and we could hear a lot of cheering from the nearby cafes/restaurants. It was interesting to see that Indians and Pakistanis were asking each other about the score. Once when the cheering got very loud, I called home and came to know that Sehwag had hit five fours in an over. The cruise was followed by an early dinner at a semi-open-air restaurant close to the riverfront. The organisers asked if they could get the match on the TVs there, but that was not possible.

An important purpose (the primary purpose?) of the conference was to get the Google people and the users to meet and interact with each other, and this did happen on the first day, although there was no "formal" conference activity with projectors and screens and microphones etc.

Other than the Google employees working on Map Maker etc, there were many other younger "volunteers" representing Google who accompanied us on the bus/boat rides, ensured that everyone is informed of the plan, supplied water bottles and umbrellas and stuff, and were generally looking after everyone. This  was one big difference between being at a conference like this and being just a tourist.

On 31st there was a talk by Google's "Geo Evangelist", followed by a discussion with Map Maker engineers. These discussions with the developers about the features, bugs, etc were the most interesting part of the conference for me. There were also many other topics of discussion, like building the Map Maker community, organising mapping parties, mapping from mobile devices, using GPS devices, using Map Maker for mapping disaster-affected areas, and other more technical topics.

In the evening we visited Google's office in Singapore. It is mainly a sales/marketing office. So we just looked around and took some photos. After an early dinner by the poolside, I went to roam around on Sentosa Island. It had gotten dark, and I was surprised to find that the beaches were deserted. I was expecting to see at least some people there given that Sentosa is popular with tourists. I rode a Segway ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Segway_PT ). It was quite interesting!

Photos by Prateek

On 1st morning we had another discussion with the Map Maker engineers, and several  unstructured "unconference" sessions, where people discussed in smaller groups.The Googlers were very interested in interacting with the users and listening to their feedback.

My Cup Runneth Over With Joy

We will continue to exult in the afterglow of the World Cup victory. The gleaming cup will provide us with happiness for years to come. It is amazing how a simple game that requires minimum gear and is played in practically every street in India, can unite the nation in a way that no other glue can.

On Saturday, when India and Sri Lanka were making history on the cricket ground in Mumbai, every Indian heart was beating for Dhoni and his boys. It did not matter whether you lived in India or left the Indian shores generations ago to make a new life elsewhere. If you called yourself Indian, you longed to see the Cup in the Indian skipper's hands. Whether you were Mukesh Ambani sitting in the VIP enclosure at the Wankhede stadium, or a daily wage earner eking out a living in some remote village, you yearned to see India win that evening. From toddlers barely out of their prams to grandparents confined to their wheelchairs, everybody dreamt of the Cup.

On that fateful night in Mumbai, when the captain hit the winning stroke, the thud was echoed in billions of hearts across the globe. What followed was sheer madness. People ran out on the streets in celebration. There was complete chaos. It was an emotional moment for a land that had been waiting for this conquest for a long time. And when it did happen, people had tears of joy in their eyes and lumps in their throats.

What is it that makes cricket so popular as to transcend all barriers of class, caste, gender, age and language ? Its reach is widespread and its connect with the masses phenomenal. But that does not make it any less classy either. And therein lies the magic of cricket, a game that is the darling of not just India, but the entire subcontinent.

When your TV screen fills with images of a handful of strapping men who are epitomes of strength, stamina and fitness, you feel elated. Middle-aged men with paunches, balding and toothless seniors, obese males who are forced to stay indoors because of the nature of their work, students who are too tied up with their studies to go out and get a breath of fresh air, ageing women with bad backs and painful knees, homemakers who are wedded to their chores...almost all of us get a certain pleasure watching these men run, jump, stretch and fall on the ground playing the great game of cricket.

Perhaps we enjoy seeing them do things that we could not do because of other compulsions. After all how many of us get a chance to lead such an outdoorsy life? Maybe we fulfil our wishes through them, just like parents do through their children. We take pride in their achievements because they are real heroes. We are aware of the hurdles they had to cross and the stiff competition they had to face before reaching where they are today. We know that each one of them has put in years of hard work while pursuing the game. We love them, we admire them, we dote on them because they are powerful icons of hope. They bring a lot of cheer to the people of a country that is generally starved of good news.

And who would not be happy to see their side steadily climbing the ladder of success, vanquishing legendary teams that were considered great at one time? That is precisely what happened and as India took on Sri Lanka in the finals, a nation waited with bated breath. If we jumped with joy when they inched towards victory, we fell silent when the other side seemed to dominate the game. No other entity is capable of having a hold over the collective mood of the nation as cricket is.

That is why we need cricket. It is a symbol of our oneness.

My Guardian Angels

It was 1978 and I was a starry-eyed young woman, barely out of my teens. The standard courses offered for post-graduation in Indore did not interest me. I was fascinated by the world of the print media, and wanted to pursue it. The closest city from Indore where you could take a course in Journalism was Mumbai, called Bombay in those days. I had my eyes set on it, and even though it must have been a difficult decision for them, Aai-Baba--my parents--agreed to send me. As luck would have it, I secured a seat at the renowned Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan for a 1-year diploma course in Journalism. I was happy and thrilled. But there was a problem. We had to make arrangements for my stay. Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan did not have any hostel facility.

Photo by Mayuresh

This is where my father's close friend Achyutkaka and his wife, Ashatai came to our rescue. They opened their doors for me and invited me to stay with them in their flat, on Senapati Bapat Road in Mahim. Now, this was a small, one-bedroom flat and they had three young children. I became their fourth child, and the eldest one at that. Aai-Baba found it hard to send me away, but at the same time they were relieved because I was going to be under the loving and watchful eye of their most trustworthy friends.

Achyutkaka was (still is) a stickler for discipline, order and neatness. I made sure that I hang my clothes to dry in perfect symmetry on the clothesline. When I took off my slippers, I set them straight against the wall, with the toe-side touching the wall. Achyutkaka was particular about everything and paid attention to the smallest detail around his house. Footwear left on the floor in a haphazard manner, beds covered with sheets that were wrinkled and slack instead of being taut, and anything in general that was not placed neatly, bothered him. He was very straightforward and vocal about it. His children often got quite an earful from him. I may not have lived up to his exacting standards in spite of trying very hard, but I must say that he never let me know that in any way. He would regularly advise me on how to go about in my chosen field of study. He used to tell me how I should conduct myself in a big city like Bombay. 'If you have any problem, confide in Asha', he often told me. After all, they were responsible for a 19-year-old, who had come away from her parents for the first time.

Even though he was an executive with the Indian Oil Corporation, acting was Achyutkaka's passion. He was active in the theatre circuit and I remember going to see many plays with him at the Chhabildas High School in Dadar. Chhabildas was a great venue for playwrights and directors to showcase their creations. It provided a platform for quality theatre that was not purely commercial, but experimental and low-budget. I don't mean to name-drop, but I got to see Pandit Satyadev Dubey,  Rohini and Jayadev Hattangadi, Sulabha and Arvind Deshpande, Nafisa Ali, Nana Patekar, Amol Palekar, Sunila Pradhan and many others from close quarters, either on stage or as part of the audience or in an informal meeting, thanks to Achyutkaka. I can't recollect names of all the plays that I saw there, but the two that stand out in memory are Badal Sircar's 'Juloos' and Mohan Rakesh's 'Aadhe Adhoore'. And I certainly haven't forgotten the zesty batatavadas from a nearby stall, that we used to be treated to, after watching a play.

Photo by Govind

If I have to mention one more of Achyutkaka's 'likes', other than discipline, order, neatness and acting, it has to be his evening drink. He has been having his pre-dinner drink every single day for years. I can still picture him, sitting in a chair that was kept between a window and a steel cupboard in the small Mahim flat, nursing his drink. His tastes in food are simple. He is happy with his daal-roti, the daal has to be served in a big bowl though, not in the small vaati or katori in which it is traditionally served in Maharashtrian houses. And the pinch of sugar that Maharashtrians add to all the dishes is a strict no-no in his house. Ashatai's cooking has always been free of that dash of sugar. In fact, there is a delightful North Indian touch to her fare, as she hails from Jhansi. The family was mostly vegetarian. Occasionally, there used to be some fish and the children tried their best to cajole me into eating it, or at least trying a little portion. But I was, still am, a vegetarian by choice and therefore did not succumb to their pleas.

Life was simple. School for the kids, Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan for me and office for Achyutkaka. Ashatai was a homemaker then. She started teaching at a school later. Sunday evenings were reserved for sitting in front of the TV and watching whatever movie Doordarshan threw at us. There used to be an intermission--a break when news was telecast--that all of us enjoyed with some munchies. The favourite items were puff biscuits and hard and crispy boondi laddoos which Achyutkaka used to get from some shop in Dadar.

Time flew in these congenial environs and before I knew it, my course was over. I was fortunate to be selected as a trainee journalist at the Bennett, Coleman & Company, publishers of the Times of India and many reputed journals. Soon, I moved into a hostel for working women. It was not too far from Achyutkaka's place. I continued visiting and meeting him and his family till I got married and moved away in 1982. When we were about to set up our home in Delhi, Achyutkaka gave us an Indane gas connection from his discretionary quota. That was one of the most sought after things then, a precious gift indeed that is still keeping our kitchen fires burning.

Achyutkaka and Ashatai visited us in Delhi and in Bangalore. They came when Aai-Baba were with us so that the four of them could spend some nice time together. Achyutkaka and Baba have been friends for more than six decades now, but what is remarkable is that their wives are each other's best friends too! During his visits, I found that he is still his old self...inspecting cupboards, arranging newspapers in a neat pile, washing and arranging teacups in the kitchen...and so on. His actions told me that he felt completely 'at home' at our place. This is exactly what he would have done in his own house.

Well, that is Achyutkaka for me.

A bit of information for those who don't know: Achyutkaka is Achyut Potdar who played the role of the father of leading ladies Urmila Matondkar ( in the 1995 Hindi film 'Rangeela')  and Vidya Balan ( in the 2005 film 'Parineeta'), and a cameo of a professor in 'Three Idiots' (2009). You may have seen him in many other Hindi films,  TV serials and advertisements. Kudos to him for keeping his passion alive and being actively involved in it so many years after retirement.

Holi Is Around The Corner

When the nights started getting warm and the days warmer, when the woollen clothes felt burdensome every now and then, when you thought that you better open your windows, you knew that Holi was around the corner. The palash (flame of the forest, tesu) tree outside our window would come alive with little orange buds every year at this time. Soon, the whole tree was a riot of bright orange blossoms, their flames leaping towards the sky, leaving the tree completely bereft of its green foliage. This was my favourite harbinger, marking the turn of the seasons.

Photo by Santosh Chandran, CC-BY-SA

Holi, in Delhi brought the winter to an end. It came at a point when winter left Delhi, and summer was yet to arrive. It was the perfect time to shed your winter clothes, shed your inhibitions and join the party. But for years, we kept away from all the hullabaloo. We just did not like the loudness, the aggression and the mess that Holi brought with it. Why get doused with strong chemical colours that were not only hard to wash off, but were hazardous too? We wanted to avoid all this and preferred to stay put indoors, watching our neighbours who were hidden behind layers of powders and paints, from the safety of our home.

This went on for a few years. But our neighbours decided that they would not let us have the vicarious pleasure of playing Holi from the confines of our living room. So one fine Holi day, they rang the bell and knocked at our door, asking us to join them. We knew that they were armed with coloured powders, pastes and water bottles (pichkaris), ready to pounce on us as soon as they could, and so we decided not to open the door. The mob outside, though friendly, turned furious at our temerity and started pounding at the door with their fists. Some others kept the button of the bell pressed, making it shriek continuously. We were not sure if  keeping the door shut was wise, but we stuck to our stand anyway. The poor bell could not cope with the incessant pressure and fell silent. The thumping went on for some more time and then stopped. The group of revellers gave up on us and moved away, leaving us clean and dry, secure in our territory.

Even though we got what we wanted, we were somewhat uncomfortable because we had turned our neighbours away from our door without greeting them. We lived on the campus of an academic institute where my husband taught, so they were not only neighbours, but his colleagues too.

At the next Holi, we decided to participate in the celebrations in our campus. When we offered no resistance and went from door to door willingly with other people, they treated us as one of them and did not attack us with their deadly powders and coloured water, as they would most certainly have if we were to hide in a corner and show reluctance. Sure, they threw hot purple powder in my hair, and painted my face with fluorescent green, red and yellow, but the 'attack' was friendly, not ferocious. We followed this practice every year and soon became a part of the gang. The situation with chemical colours improved considerably as there were several campaigns against them in Delhi. People became aware of the dangers they posed and opted for organic colours that were safe.

Around noon, when everybody had played with colours to their hearts' content, a kind and generous neighbour used to invite all of us to his home for some refreshments. They had a neat garden outside their flat. Some of us sprawled on the lawn, while plastic chairs were hurriedly pulled out for others. The hostess disappeared in the kitchen to send platters of snacks for all of us. We felt very comfortable in each other's company in spite of all the mess on our clothes and bodies. It was at that instant that I understood the spirit of Holi. The Holi colours had the magical powers of hiding our formal demeanour and bringing out our true selves. We sat in that garden, sipping tea, munching on the savouries and soaking in the 'feel good' air around us. Taking a shower, washing the colours off our bodies and changing into clean clothes could surely wait for some time, couldn't it?

A Tale Of Two Houses

Most of us love visiting our childhood. Be it in the form of food, books, people, places, music, movies...anything, just anything that connects us with that wonderful period in our lives. Something that may seem to be very ordinary to others, is significant and very dear to us, because it takes us back to the time when we were kids. I do not know whether our fascination lies in the simple, uncomplicated lifestyle of the yesteryears, or the age of innocence we were in at that time. I guess, it is a combination of these.

I relived a little bit of my childhood during a recent trip to Dhar. Now, Dhar is one of those places that were important centuries ago, but lost all their glory somewhere along the way, and are reduced to being nondescript, small towns today. The history of Dhar is synonymous with that of Raja Bhoj, under whose rule Dhar prospered and became an important centre of learning in the 11th century. Today, it is a dusty little place, overshadowed by its much bigger neighbour, Indore.

Growing up in Indore, I used to go to Dhar often, to visit my paternal grandmother's sister and her family. It was a joint family, living in two houses. One of the houses was called 'old house' and the other,'new house'. The houses had an old-world charm about them. And for someone like me, who did not have much experience with rural or small-town life, they held a great appeal. They had wells and cow-sheds and the floors in the rooms had to be smeared with cow-dung every now and then. I remember spending some happy days in those houses. Later, when I got married and moved on, I did not get a chance to visit Dhar. It was not far, only about 70 kilometres from Indore, but it went very far back in my memory.

A few months ago, when I was in Indore with my parents, we decided to go to Dhar, just for old times' sake. My grandmother and her sister passed away years ago, but their families have maintained a close bond. I was looking forward to checking out the two houses, and of course, meeting my relatives who lived in them. Three of my father's cousins with their wives, children and grandchildren live there now. When I checked with my uncles about the age of the houses, they estimated the 'new' house to be about 100 years old, while the 'old' one, anywhere between 150 and 175 years old.


We go to the 'old house' first. It is in a small alley, standing in a row of houses that are tightly packed, with no gap in between. It looks exactly the same as it did decades ago, when I had seen it last. The front door is unusually short. One has to bend to pass through it. 'You have to be polite, otherwise you can't enter!', someone jokes. The house looks smallish from outside, but is quite spread out inside. There are rooms of different shapes and sizes, connected to each other like coaches in a train. Many of the connecting doors are quite short.

There is a festive atmosphere in the house. Folks who live in the 'new house' are here too, so that we can meet the whole family at the same time. The lady of the house is busy in the kitchen, preparing a traditional meal for us. I am meeting most of them after years, but they are all very warm and genuinely happy to have us. There is laughter and bonhomie around the dining table where we relish the delicious lunch, taking turns in batches of six. They have acquired gadgets like a fridge, television set and even a computer. But they have chosen to live in the house that their ancestors built. Sure, they don't have conveniences like attached bathrooms and modular kitchens. Why, even answering the door while working in the kitchen is a challenge, as the front door and the kitchen are miles apart. But they are taking it in their stride. They have seen the outside world...the adults work in banks and schools, the children go to school, they travel...but what they call home is this. And the best part is that they seem to be very comfortable here.

photos by Prateek

Later in the afternoon, we go to the other house for tea. It is a three-storied house, with balconies on the outside. But the toilets are downstairs, in the backyard! And going up and down the steep, narrow staircase isn't a piece of cake either. But life goes on... has been going on all these years. I became a little girl again...seeing these homes. Most of the other old houses that I visited in my childhood have either been demolished or renovated beyond recognition. That makes these houses unique. And looking at the people who reside in them, I wonder if they are so incredibly warm, loving and simple because they are living in premises blessed by their forefathers. Or they are happy in these old-fashioned places because they are intrinsically unpretentious and down-to-earth. Whatever it is, I wish them even more happiness than they already have.

The Saree Saga

Time was when all married women were seen in sarees, at least in my part of the world. The training to wear a saree began earlier. The wedding of a close friend or a relative was a good occasion for all young, unmarried women to flaunt their six yards of splendour. These gatherings provided an excuse for prospective grooms and their families to 'see' girls / women of marriageable age in a natural setting without making them self-conscious. So it was almost an unwritten rule that young women wear sarees at others' weddings. Those who tried to deviate from this path by wanting to wear something else were sternly admonished: You'll be getting married soon, what will your in-laws think if you can't wear a saree properly.

Most of the leading ladies in Hindi movies danced around the trees dressed in opulent sarees, with their hair tied in ridiculously high bouffants. How they managed to lip-sync to a song, respond coyly to the hero's advances, prance about in high heels and look as if they were enjoying the whole exercise is anyone's guess. Jokes apart, saree is not an easy wear when it comes to doing several chores. As women discovered the ease with which they could do many things wearing a salwar-kameez or a pair of jeans and a top, they began relegating the saree to the back shelf. Salwar-kameez and its variants took over as the most popular costume for women across the country.

The humble saree was lying low for some time before it made a spectacular comeback. Not being a stitched garment, it is very versatile and can be draped in hundreds of different ways. And when some intelligent designer had the bright idea of giving a whole new glamorous look to the blouse, women started using the saree to make bold fashion statements. As the blouse went from being small to almost non-existent, the stature of saree as a stylish attire rose higher and higher. The birth of designer sarees opened unlimited opportunities. Once a traditional piece of clothing, the saree has become cool and happening. But fashion trends are always mercurial, so there's no telling where the saree will go from here.