“No, I am not married” I replied a tad sternly, but the sternness went unnoticed by this prying fellow who sat on the opposite berth with a kid sleeping next to him. It was 10pm and all I wanted to do was read my book. But, this middle aged man kept coming up with all sort of personal questions as he rubbed his palms together sprinkling some kind of coarse powder on the floor.

“What is the purpose of your visit to Patna?”

“Do you have any relatives there?”

“Yes.” I lied. I didn’t want him to know that I would be a stranger to the place.

“Madam... what is your full name?”

“Sorry what?” I raised my head from pretending to read.

 “Full name, surname?” he motioned his head up and down as a gesture of questioning.

“Uh, it’s Shaheen Sarbhan.”

“Shaheen sarbhan... strange... Mohammeden name, Hindu surname, strange. Sarbhan...hmm...which caste is that?”

“Bhai Saab, now this cast creed, religion is old concept. No good comes out of it. It’s better to keep it out of conversation.”

“Oh, no, yes, that is fine.” A moment later... “Must be OBC. No need to hesitate. These days belonging to a lower caste is considered a privilege because of all the quotas and reservations.”

Did this guy really say that to me? After a couple of minutes he spoke again. “What do you do for earning money? You look like you earn a decent living.”

This was too much. He was close to knowing me better than my mother. I decided to give my best shot at lying.

“I am an Aayaa.” Did I really say that? Fun had just started. He had the same look on his face as the 6^th century Greeks when Pythagoras suggested that Earth was spherical.

“Aayaa?”

“Yes. You know those who take care of other people’s babies.”

“No No. I know. You look like a well-educated decent woman.”

“Well, who said Aayaas are indecent and uneducated?”

“But why Aayaa?”

“I just love kids. I work in 5 houses with 12 children all together. Oh such a pleasure it is. I could just eat them up. Sometimes I just wish all of them were mine and I could just take them all away with me. Hmmm.”  I sighed, and a moment later I said, “Hey!! Is that your kid?”

The man looked spooked, he drew his kid closer to him and never left him alone, not even to go to the toilet. He did not speak another word with me for the entire journey.

Poetry on a six yards long paper

I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said that next to Diamonds, Silks are a girl’s best friend. Hailing from the holy land of Kashi or Varanasi or Banaras as popularly known, I have my fair share of Banarasi silk sarees as Collectibles, which I find an excuse to show off in front of guests every now and then.  I become the Gollum of the ‘precious’ six yards of fabrics.

I wonder many times why I crave my sister’s homemade cake better than a fancy BlackForest. I still have my old woolen poncho in Blue-pink stripes, that my Mother knit for my 18^th birthday and wear it year after year. The ones I bought have already seen their days. And when it comes to Banarasi sarees, handloom is not just an option; it’s the only option that I go for.

There is something in the touch of the maker, the labor done in the making, and the experience that guides and alters the creation, which brings about the inexplicable aura of preciousness around that Cake, that poncho and that Banarasi that covers everything else by a haze.

Handloom weaving is an ancient tradition that is still practiced on a large scale. It was one of the uniting factors among the Muslim weavers, the Gujarati weavers and merchants, the Bangla weavers. Together they took this art to faraway places.

Lately, though, due to the tough competition from cheaper Chinese textile, emergence of Power looms as a quicker mode of production, Banarasi weavers are living on the edge of existence. The exploitative middle men do not give the weavers their fair share for the effort they put in(Did you know, that it takes 2-6 months for making one traditional banarasi handloom saree, which is class apart from any of the machine made ones ?) . Cheaper Chinese goods have choked the demand of authentic handloom product. The old weavers do not know anything else so they continue to weave but they definitely do not want their children to continue their legacy.

Will this art die a slow death or can we do something about it? My appeal to all saree lovers is that, the next time when you buy silk, buy an authentic handloom product, be it Banarasi or Kanjivaram and do your bit to keep this tradition alive.