COLUMNS
A WORLD AWAY Connecting to heritage through clothing
A World Away
26 | DESIGNED BY HENRY MA
JOAN THYAGARAJAN My maternal grandmother has always sent me monthly packages filled to the brim with kaju katli, gulab jamun, murukku and halwa. The sticky, scrumptious sweets are accompanied by bizarre, lavish and inconceivably ornate dresses that are the offspring of my grandmother’s attempt to understand my American taste in clothes fused with our South Indian heritage. For as long as I can remember, my closet has been flooded with the vibrant hues of kurtas and dupattas that caught every visitor’s eyes despite being shoved to the back corner. I refused to wear them, embarrassed by the flamboyant reds and oranges bedecked with rhinestones and intricate gold designs. They were a discordant clash of a supposed Western-style T-shirt or dress and the designer’s love of Indian design. Every package prompted the awkward, unfulfilled promise that I would wear them. I ought to. After all, my grandmother had put so much time into selecting these pieces. They were her declaration of grandmotherly affection sent in a package she sewed shut herself and spent substantial money to ship to the other side of the world.
I would wear them once, to the church where the elders would all give compliments while I was just relieved to have fulfilled my duty to wear a dress I hated. It was my penance for living so far from my grandparents and my reluctant proclamation of love. I wore the blouses too long to be fashionable in America, but too short to be considered proper Indian clothes. The clothes reminded me of who I was and ashamed of being: someone who did not fit anywhere. When the pandemic came, the packages stopped coming. I dearly missed the sweets, but there was a quiet relief that I no longer had new dresses to stuff into the back of my closet. In August 2021 my maternal grandfather passed away, and in December 2021 my paternal grandmother passed away. All of a sudden, my maternal grandmother was the only grandparent I had left. I was left reeling at the combined loss while also yearning for one of my grandmother’s packages and a semblance of the old, enveloping sensation of grandmotherly affection that ensconced the saccharine treats and colorful fabrics that traveled across the world just for me. All the blouses and kurta-esque dresses that still sat in the back of my closet had a new value. My grandparents had always been my anchor to my Indian heritage, but now, with them gone, these clothes that I had forsaken for so long were my only con-
nection to the people and the culture that felt much farther than just a world away. When the first package came after quarantine ended, I treasured the clothes with newfound vigor. However, college poses a new conundrum to my ever-growing collection of kurtas, saris and indo-western blouses. Will I bring them with me? I hold these garments close to my heart, but that does not stem the embarrassment associated with wearing them. With sparse closet space in my immediate future, there is only so much I can bring. I have to question whether these dresses — impractical for daily life — are essential enough to my identity that I will continue to take them with me wherever I go
