Saree is a traditional outfit worn in India, Sri Lanka, Pakistan and Bangladesh. This iconic garment is seen on everyday streets and fashion runways alike. Its length ranges from 3.5 to 9 yards. There are over a hundred ways to drape a saree. Saree can actually be worn without a blouse and petticoat! During the prudish British rule, baring one's chest or being blouseles was seen as improper. So the British promoted the wearing of blouses and petticoats with ruffled hems. But none of the regional saree drapes actually require a petticoat and can be worn without blouse. Almost every region in India has its own special type of saree. For instance : Benarasi silk saree from Uttar Pradesh Chikan kari saree from Lucknow (I live here) Kanjeevaram silk saree from Tamil Nadu Kasavu saree from Kerala Paithani silk saree from Maharashtra Bandhini silk and Patola sarees from Gujarat Chanderi saree from Madhya Pradesh Muga silk saree from Assam Leheriya and KalamKari sarees from Rajasthan Jamdani and tant sarees from West Bengal Sambhalpuri Ikat and Bomkai saree from Odisha Phulkari saree from Punjab Pochampally saree from Telangana
Saree supports millions of handloom weavers in India. According to the Textile Ministry annual report of 2016, current estimates put the number of craftspeople employed by the Industry at 11 million.
Besides this, saree often offers a nostalgic sentiments. Sarees are passed down from one generation to the next as a part of a wedding trousseau or a gift. They evoke cherishing memories of particular moments or events.
Saree managed to survive 5000 years of the past, to still be a dazzling outfit today. I believe and hope that this stellar garment will thrive the next 5000 years as well.
So it's my birthday today. I've completed my sweet sixteen. It's been hell of a journey I learnt, laughed , bonded , blah blah blah I am an ICSE board grade 10 student. When my exam schedule came in, I was delighted au the fact that my exams will end on 30th March and my birthday is on 29th, so I'll have a lot of time to celebrate and stuff And as you're aware, due to the corona outbreak, the country has been locked down, not that I'm complaining. I realise the gravity of home quarantine and lockdown and I support it too ✌️ Moreover I have a chance to experience quarantined birthday, not that I'm complaining I realised a life long valuable aspect of life- 'Life is unpredictable ' It's so unpredictable that you can't schedule your entire day, you don't know what's next, you can't halt a natural phenomena and you can't progress am unnatural desire, not that I'm complaining Now I believe in going with the flow, embracing whatever comes in because whatever happens, happens for the best I wish that all the people working to protect our earth, people who are serving selflessly are blessed in abundance always Thankyou Mirakee for helping me grow as a writer, reader and person. I'm grateful
On a bright heated afternoon in a room drowned in gloom, full of chaos's tranquility, was a man sleeping. As for his physical appearance he was ugly, and was balding too. And he was tired of people calling him ugly. Deep down in his sleep if you climb down the stairs of his dreams and see the world his mind chose to roam in, you'll see him standing in front of a mirror, his eyes wide, his face uglier with dark flesh which somehow feels dead. He closes up his face nearer the mirror, his eyes out wider, stretching the nerves on them, his eyeballs dancing, scanning his own face. His hands now shake, his face now aches but his eyes still fixated his dark flesh still dark, and ugly which was somehow getting darker and uglier with every passing second. The madman was about to what felt like scream but then the silence was shattered by the alarm clock. The dream now collapsed, the man now out of his own thought prison, his face is now relieved.
He lazily gets up from his bed, picks up his white towel and strolls to the shower room. Standing beneath the shower with face facing upwards with eyes closed, the ugly man stands still as if lost in a lifeless pause. He opens his eyes, switches off the shower, wraps the towel round his waist when his eyes catches the fallen strands of hair, quite many of them. He looks at them helplessly, then plods out the bathroom with a tired face like a deflated football.
He then puts on his white shirt, takes a few steps towards the mirror, pauses and then walks to the main door, bu hesitant to go out like any other day, for he is tired of people calling him ugly. He yet gathers the courage and strolls toward the metro station, he looks at the people around him in the metro in which he stands guilty, or not maybe.
His eyes steals a few glances of a girl a few steps away from him with bright eyes, dark hair and fair skin. She was, what they call beautiful. His heart thumps with an unexplainable excitement, but a few seconds later self realisation kicks in hard. His eyes now facing down, a sudden air of toxic inferiority passes by him. His self drowning in the pit he created himself, he walks away. Or should I say he ran away.
Passing by the huge posters on the streets, posters of beautiful people, he looks at them with pretty straight face as if it was inevitable to face them perhaps. The day passes, the painter sells his paintings and when hunger begs again, the traveller reverts back.
When dusk completely lured the sky and when the world was tired, he was in a metro again, sitting this time. A woman stands infront of him with dark skin, an unsymmetric face, basically ugly. The man looks at her, indifferent. He opens his book, starts reading. A few stations pass then enters a girl. Only this time, she was attractive. The man notices her as she made her way in the crowded metro. As it was, she had to stand. Lucky for him, she stood near him. He steals a few glances, suppressing the guilt and only this time, he wasn't gonna give up easy. He stands up all of a sudden with gentle voice he says "You can sit if you want" and holds the support rod. The woman thanks him. His face goes red glowing like the moon. With a few slow steps he stand hear the gates, with that constant smile on his face. Until he finds the ugly girl staring at him. "She is ugly," he tells himself as he looks away. The girl keeps staring at him with a tired face like a deflated football.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ @Say_me_krish here, my darkest writeup (I feel), for you wanted to read. And if not for u, I wouldn't rewrite or post it again, so thank you brother ❤
They had been driving for fifteen minutes, and Vivian had not spoken even once. There was a grim sort of focus upon her grey eyes, and when Monica poked her on the shoulder, she shook violently and drove the car almost off the dirt road.
"What?" She locked daggers at Monica who didn't back down
"You haven't told me anything. I don't like not knowing. Walking in unprepared at a crime scene."
Vivian rolled her eyes but relented all the same.
"Oh well. Victim's a female. Early twenties. Stabbing appears to be the cause of death."
"Uh huh. Her face was smashed in. Unrecognizable. But the medical examiner says that was done post mortem. No dental records to compare either. No documentation in the apartment."
"So.. we don't know who she is."
"Uh huh. It's the same situation as the first murder. The similarities are too striking for it to be two different killers."
"It's like whoever did it.. they were trying to not just kill.. they were trying to erase her identity."
"We usually have either a face or a name, Gates. This time we got neither. Got any theories?"