There lay my beautiful sarees;
Some gifted by my patrons, some from admirers and some which my wealth offered.
Made of the costliest of fabrics,
Dyed in the loveliest of colours,
There lay my beautiful sarees.
But among those dazzling silks,
Lies an old worn out saree.
To people with fine tastes, they would discard this cloth, but to me it was much more.
Cotton fabric dyed in green,
Once boasted its beauty but now stripped of its pride lies humbly.
No admirer, no patron, no king gifted me this saree but my Gurumaa.
Young and radiant at sixteen,
Gurumaa gifted me a green saree on my sixteenth birthday.
Casting off my brown blouse and dhoti,
I draped the green saree around me.
The brown clothes lay on the ground
Merging with the brown earth.
My green saree looked fresh like
New leaves blooming in spring.
My eyes ran over the beautiful white borders the saree contained,
And I found a jasmine vine growing nearby.
Now I am thirty two, not very old yet.
The saree does not have a very sweet smell as it did then.
There is sweat on it and the colour a little dull after so many years of practice.
From sixteen, every day I wore this
I am thirty two and I keep on going.
The saree though losing its shine
Continues to drape around me
Making me feel sixteen again.
It grows old everyday yet I see it shining as if saying,
"I am still here with you. Carry on!"
I keep on dancing in this.