Essay · 01 / 06 · Edition 02

Whispers in the Weave

on borrowed sarees, the family tailor and the culture folded in our cupboards

By Priyadarshini Hazra · Oct 2026 · 3 min read

Culture.

An extremely broad term, in my opinion, which those using it very rarely seem to understand the meaning of. I believe that when the word ‘culture’ is used, beliefs should come to mind. Traditions. Values. Characteristics. Something that can be inherited, celebrated, passed on.

For as far as history allows us to look back upon, clothing has stood firmly as one of the most loved, used, and accessible forms of Indian culture. This leads us to the question: why is this the case? There’s so many other forms of art and media, but very few have held their position as much as fabrics have.

To simply put it, it is reusable in the most delicate way possible. Wearing the same saree on Maha Ashtami that your mom did when she was 15, while you yourself are 15. Borrowing your sister’s hand-emboridered blouse because you can't find one that fits you perfectly. Going to the same tailor for your fall and pico fitting that your entire extended family goes to. These small, unnoticed traditions, habits: they fall into place for us, and we don’t really think much about them. We don’t consider that your mom, even at 15, saved her saree that year for her future daughter, without even knowing if she’d ever have one to begin with. Your sister letting you take that one blouse that she argued with her tailor bhaiya for, for 3 months straight. That one aunt you can’t stand going to the ends of the Earth to find at least one local tailoring shop that can do any last minute alterations anybody might need. We don’t think much about these things, do we?

The places these same fabrics have been, the Kalamkari designing done on them, straight from Telengana, or the Jamdani weaving done on them in the rural areas of Burdhaman. The people who wore them before we did, the conversations that they’ve been a part of, the fights that took place at the dry cleaners’, trying to get stains out of them. Every piece of traditional clothing that we borrow has something behind it. But behind everything, there’s the owner’s love. Could be that of your mom. Or your great-grandmother who you might not have even met. But it’s there. It’s there, and it’s what gives you that glow when you wear it. The perfect fits, the photos clicked on your dad’s old camera, the sindoor stain; it adds to the heritage. It adds to the culture. It adds to the stories that the garment is going to hold when yet again, it is passed on.

At the start, I said that “culture” should bring to mind beliefs, traditions, values, characteristics: something inherited, celebrated, passed on. That is why clothing has lasted so long in India. Fabric holds the small, unnoticed habits: the same tailor, the same festival every year, the same folds pressed in the same places. It holds the warmth of a family that bickers over every stitch and still hands over its finest pieces anyway. Culture was never kept in a museum. It was folded in our cupboards the whole time.