Some sarees are folded.
Some are framed.
And some—some live in the quiet corners of our wardrobes, carrying the scent of jasmine and stories from decades past.

We don’t always realise it as children.
How our mothers wore elegance like second skin. How they chose fabrics not just for how they looked, but for how they felt. Cotton for summers, silks for ceremonies, chiffons when they felt playful.

Each drape carried more than thread. It carried emotion.

The saree she wore to her first job interview.
The one she wore on your school annual day.
The one you tugged at when you were too shy to speak.

These aren’t just garments.
They’re keepsakes of who she was.
And somewhere, who you’re becoming.

Today, we talk a lot about sustainability. But our mothers lived it.
They rewore. Repaired. Reimagined.
A blouse passed down. A petticoat resized. A pallu draped differently.

Their wardrobes weren’t about abundance. They were about belonging.
Each piece had a purpose. A story. A memory.

This Mother’s Day, maybe we don’t need new things.
Maybe we just need to open that old trunk.
Feel the weave. Smell the memory. Sit with the silence of something that’s lasted.

And if she’s around—maybe ask her about that saree she wore to your cousin’s wedding.

You’ll hear a story. Maybe two.

Because these pieces?
They aren’t just worn.
They’re lived in. Loved for years.