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Could you get a saree with polka dots, asked
my husband the moment I returned from shopping (he knew my
obsession with polka dots and my determination to pick up one
for Dushera)
Yes, at last, I sighed.
Oh, is this what you call polka dots, he
chuckled glancing at my priced possession, sea green dots on a
white background.
Don’t you think it’s a beautiful sari, just
feel the texture, and it’s so light, I said. Also, I am sure I
will look slim in this sari, I added, running my hand on the
smooth “silk”.
I don’t find anything special about the saree
you seem to admire so much, he said indifferently.
That’s the trouble with you men, can’t
appreciate anything other than your own clothes which lack
variety and design, I said quite disappointed.
You know I had to visit at least half-a-dozen
shops to spot a Polka dots saree on their shelves, I said.
What’s worse, none of the salesmen understood what I was asking
for.
I don’t believe you. It is not such an
intricate design that the salesmen found it difficult to
understand, he said almost mocking me.
I agree it isn’t. But a couple of them showed
me “sungadi” saris and insisted they were polka dots. I found no
use arguing with them. In some shops I was amused at their
reaction. “Amma, enna sonnige, pulka va?” They thought I was
referring to “polka” that we eat and looked strangely at me as
though something was wrong.
Then how did you ultimately manage to pick up
the saree which you seem to be so obsessed with? You women have
all the patience in the world when it comes to buying sarees, he
observed.
Well, I found it in a boutique at last and it
cost me a fortune, I said, quietly removing the price tag from
the saree when I noticed his gaze turning to someone
approaching.
It was my maid who entered and I felt like a
deflated balloon because the coincidence was too much for my
comfort!
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