Sari Without Border

“So, you are married?” I was draping my handloom sari when my recently found young lover questioned me. I did not feel like answering but the innocence of his question struck me. I did not want to give me away but there was something which was forcing me to shed my artificial identity before him. Why was it taking me so long to answer one single question? It had not taken me even a slight effort to undress myself before him, kiss him wildly and serve myself before him like some freshly plucked flower on the worship dish. I completed my draping and started biting one end of the saree. It had silk and jarii. I was trying to bite off the cloth as if it will save me from answering his question. He came closer to me and took out the piece of fabric from my mouth. “Why are you chewing on this beautiful sari and spoiling it, you can choose not to answer me if your heart does not allow.” I was now trying to soothe my teeth which were exerted too much. I swallowed my spit. It felt as if I am also swallowing my dilemma. Should I say yes, I am married. What will he think about me? Will he think that I am a slut? How will he react if he knows that he is not the only one to sleep with me outside my marriage? How many more questions will be asked if he knows that sleeping with men does not give me any satisfaction? Will it hurt his masculinity that he could not quench my thirst. How do I let him know that men are not my weakness? They are just my outlet to release my frustration. Frustration to be surrounded by four wall boundaries. Surrounded by man-made moral boundaries. Frustration of not able to fight off physically. Frustration of constantly maintaining the facade of an aadarsh bahu (ideal daughter-in-law). Frustration of constantly maintaining the image of a bharatiya nari (Indian woman). My husband is not a bad guy in traditional sense. He does a lot of work, earns handsome salary, and is an obedient son and perhaps law-abiding citizen. He wants me to be a good wife, an obedient daughter in law. I even tried to do all this in the beginning but it started suffocating me. I started to divert my attention. My husband even indulged me. He was always there when I tried innumerable saris and jewelries and high heels and what not. But they could not hold my attention; they could not divert my attention. I got desperate. I started searching the root of my problem. I realized his ego was the culprit. His male ego. I got so hostile towards it. I wanted to hurt his ego. I wanted to make him realize without making him realize. In the beginning, I was very hesitant. I could not go for any man. My parents had taught me that wolves will kill you before you even realize. I was terrified. Every man was a wolf to me but now I had to go near them. I had to fight my fear. I had to cross the boundary. I had to leave back my palluii and mangalsutraiii and sindooriv. I did so even. Not even a single guy realized that I was already married. I just wonder how this fellow got the hint that I might be married. What if he knows that I am married. What difference does it make? I am not even going to share a bed with him again. He is like a used tattered cloth now. Oh no, it’s late. I should leave. I’ll just say, “I am not married” with a straight face. He will surely believe me. He doesn’t even seem twenty five to me. And then I felt his hand on my hair. He was making braids while I was lost in my thoughts. He just silently kept braiding my hair. There was something in the touch of his hands. I could not be dishonest with him. What is the problem in his seemingly innocuous enquiry? He just wants to know whether I am married or not. Even if he knows that I am married, he does not appear to be the blackmailing type. I was brought out of my thought when he suggested to drape my sari. “What is problem in the way I have draped?” He responded softly, “there is no problem, you just did it hurriedly and so it does not look that well. See your sari, it is so beautiful, I have really become fond of your choice. If I get married one day, I will take you to shopping for my wife.” Once again I was undressing myself before him. He meticulously draped the sari over me. I kept wondering from where he might have learnt this but I did not feel like asking. Once it got over, he told me to have a look in an oversized mirror. I could see my whole frame, sari embracing me in a way which complemented my graceful beauty. I took a sigh of satisfaction, real satisfaction. Should I say that his draping my sari has given me a peculiar physical satisfaction which he could not give while I was in bed with him? I left him with a resolve not to meet him again. Not to meet any man again.