I’ve always looked forward to summer, loving the light, early dawns and lingering dusks and hopefully warmth. Now I look forward even more, so I can wear my Salwar Kameez tunic a subtle sensual mix of silk and cotton. The tunic takes me on my travels, memory moments when I could wear it, sensing the cloth caress the skin, the cut comfortable, the loose fit to keep cool.
It was made in Jaipur in Norther India after the visit to the textile factory, the cloth being woven by hand, on wooden looms that clattered back and forth, intricate Sanskrit designs appearing as if by magic from the weavers’ nimble fingers. Sandalwood scented the air as the long corridor opened into the printing room were silk screen patterns were dancing on top of the cloth. I missed the sari wearing class by choice, the women sashaying in swirling saris, too elegant, too confident, for me to dare.
Taking the Plunge
Into the shop to see the cloths on display, reems of cloth piled from floor to ceiling, patterned and plain, stripes and florals, overwhelmed the eye. Assured salesmen showing their wares, cloth unfolded, tumbling and then floating high, held to face to arm to show the perfect hues to flatter the skin. What style did I want made?
‘I have no time to have something tailor made. I leave tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry ma’am we will deliver it to your hotel this evening.’
I bit my lip and said Okay, measuring tapes appeared, and the salesmen whirled around assuming the words I didn’t understand where my measurements.
‘Pay on delivery ma’am,’ as I left to visit the rest of the city. My guide told them my hotel.
The evening came and the tailor arrived and pulled both outfits from a bag, ‘very beautiful,’ he said as he bowed, and I paid and added the tip.
The Perfect Travel Companion
I wore my tunics, one lilac and peace, the other green, white, and gold, whenever I could. Summers in Scotland require several layers beneath, the silky sensation on the skin is lost.
Into my case it goes to every warm destination, Marrakesh in the roof top garden, the cut and style did not offend, In Santiago the capital island of Cape Verde catching sight of the President entering the presidential palace as we stood in tour group and later inthe rum distillery located in the gorge in the middle of the mountain.
To Argentina it came with me and worn on the hot dry day when I visited the pampas. I wore the delicate lilac and peach, saw the hacienda, ate the beef, drank the wine and was even kissed by a gaucho. This top is textile heaven for me slight and silky, but even more now are the memories it carries in it floating folds, magical moments of near and far.