Hidden treasures

Yes, a legitimate man cold is what I have been struck by. I suffer greatly, but to the victor, the spoils go. Filthy hands, dirt streaked jeans, heaving muscles, acrobatic angles and an essential Anaheeta Guha that never was later, the Warrior Goddess emerges triumphant, her saris returned to their rightful address in South Bombay. The re-discovery of the luscious fabrics and vibrant colours almost turns into a religious ceremony, the cares of the oh so soft silks against the face, the involuntary smile at the memories brought on by a flirty crepe, the mysterious delight of rich tones that come alive; some in darkness, others in light, the agitation of a favourite minus it’s matching blouse, demanding federal intervention and a 12 minute hunt, visions of smiling, lined faces fondly remembered as fingers linger over well worn, stark black and whites. No longer Warrior Goddess, I feel like a 6 year old on a tour of her toy box.
There is style. There is fashion. Then there are trends. But there is nothing, but nothing that can even pretend at what 6 yards of imagination can do to a woman. Power broker, wannabe, harried mother, drop dead gorgeous, pugilistic fishwife, insubstantial socialite, elegant matriarch, professional, earnest social worker…. for every whim, every mood, every facet. My style is my own; often frowned upon (depriving the textile industry of an adequate livelihood), eclectic (audrey hepburn meets tomb raider moments), ‘interesting’ (cocktail dress, antique jewellery and knee high boots), sometimes dubious (said ensemble accented by an outsized rainbreaker wiht flourescent yellow stripes, topped by a helmet with ears and a tail!), but it takes the sensuous moulding of a subtle honey poured over cream georgette crepe to make me feel meltingly soft, feminine and in dire need of masculine protection, yet irresistibly whip wieldingly wicked. Paradoxically dominant? What else reveals as it hides, offers glimpses of untold mysteries, hints at a sensual romance, inflames imagination while denying its elegant simplicity, demands unravelling while coyly shying away, breathtaking while leaving you breathless, makes a man falter and a woman covet, suggests grace, innocence and sin in the same breath …?? Pure sorcery and I miss it.