My mum wears sarees. Cotton sarees at home. Nylex or silk for social and important outings. All six yards of fabric, wrapped around the lower body, with the patterned end pleated in the front and lying loosely over the left shoulder. Worn with a matching blouse and under a petticoat or ‘pavada.’ Now, her homewear is a t-shirt and sarong. Why? Because wearing a saree is too tiring. Not difficult. Just tiring. My mum is in her mid-80’s. Nevertheless, she still perseveres and dons one when going out.

Before Covid-19, the only times she has left her condo sans a saree were for drives that did not require her getting out of my car. She agreed after I assured her that I would quickly (well, as quickly as she can walk) bundle her into the car, and bring her back up to her unit avoiding people traffic as much as possible.

My mum has repeated the same reasons for her fashion preference, but I didn’t get it until now. They were, ‘It’s what I am used to wearing since I was 15,’ ‘I am comfortable in my saree, although wearing it tires me out,’ ‘I feel half-dressed in a t-shirt and sarong’ and ‘People will look at me.’ My responses used to be, ‘You are tired even before we leave the house ‘ and ‘No one knows you in Kuala Lumpur, and if they did, who cares?’  My mum did and still does. Now, I do. I care on her behalf.

Wearing a washed, clean and ironed saree is a given for my mum. In the old days, sarees were starched and pressed using charcoal irons, long before electric irons came on the scene. It was a tedious process but it was done because that’s how it was. My mum has different sarees for different occasions. This sounds rather grand but what it means is wearing the right saree for the right event. She has a selection of silk, voile, georgette, chiffon, nylex and cotton sarees. For weddings or temple ceremonies, it’s silk or silk embroidered sarees. With matching accessories. Usually gold necklaces, bracelets and earrings. The rest are worn according to the occasion – visiting relatives, to the movies or just going out.

Me. I never iron my clothes. I wear them, creases and all. After a day in them, the creases disappear. And, my standard uniform comprises t-shirts with jeans, shorts or capris. I transition from home wear to outer wear seamlessly. No changing involved. The only times, my husband and I, make an effort to dress up, is when norms require it or it is clearly stated in an invitation or by the establishment we are going to. To be honest, I sometimes like dressing up just so I can wear the dresses, shoes and costume jewellery in my wardrobe. 

A neat and tidy appearance is another given for my mum. Hair oiled and centre parted, held in place by hair pins. Again, it never occurred to me until now that my dear old mum spends a fair bit of time combing her fine hair – much of it lost to old age. Her arthritic hands make it difficult to comb, gather and tie her hair into a little bun. Despite this obstacle, she still gives what’s left a good comb in the morning after her shower. And, again in the evening before tea time. I have suggested many times. She has rejected equal times to a short bob hairstyle. It’s not age-appropriate, she contends. She also doesn’t like wearing hats because they mess up her hair.  I, on the other hand, am a proud owner of a brush or two but prefer to run my hand through my hair. That’s my idea of combing the strands I have on my head.  

This is my very belated understanding and acceptance of my mum’s generation’s approach to dressing etiquette and lifestyle.  I remember my grandma, Tulasi, my mum’s mum, was always dressed impeccably whenever she went out. Nothing over the top. Just proper. My husband reminded me that his paternal grandfather wore a suit even on a Sunday. 

My mum is 28 years older than me. More or less a generation apart. We are different in many ways. Brought up in different times, opportunities, viewpoints and exposure. It is generational. I get it now. I understand my mum and accept that she needs to do what she needs to do – to be herself, feel comfortable and presentable every time she steps out of her front door.