A sari box got opened, And a revelation got made- Definition of a sari in a dictionary is wrong, Its not just a garment that’s about six feet long. It’s a harbinger of memories, A drape in its weft, weave and wrap carrying stories. My saris are not just cottons, silks, georgettes and chiffons, Each one carries memoirs-soirées and songs. A grand mother’s advise, An aunt’s surprise, So much in guise, And then-conjectures and surmise, These old saris have opened a floodgate of sorts, Pouring a deluge of memories- an entire lot, Taken me back to the place of my youth, An upbringing of caring, culture and couth. New fashions and fabrics may come and go, Some old ones are like a seasoned pro, Shapes and styles mold as one grow(s), Yet, a few can still make you gleam and glow, Reminding that though life’s like a river in continuous flow. Sometimes it’s better when you stop, savor and slow.