The humble six yards has kept a step ahead of the khaki kurta and dhoti in Indian politics.
The humble six yards has kept a step ahead of the khaki kurta and dhoti in Indian politics. The khaki uniform of independence has over the years acquired the grey of somewhat dirty posturing in the name of Gandhism and political power, but the sari marches bravely on, yet unbesmirched, in the halls where power walks. It does have something to do with women's instinctive ability to camouflage their feelings and intentions, and to adapt and adopt stances to suit the situation. 
Style meets Substance: Indira Gandhi and Mamata Banerjee. File Pic
Mamata Banerjee's unironed white cotton saris with thin coloured borders and blouses that have been stitched by darzis who probably never got to take proper measurements are a far call from Maharani Gayatri Devi's chiffon and pearls ensembles, but both styles symbolise woman power essentially Indian.
The woman politician in a sari who arms herself with a cause and uses her charisma to woo her electorate embodies in their eyes the image of something akin to Goddess, mother, and teacher rolled into one. And indeed the sari has always been a multipurpose tool in the control of women who know how to manipulate the six yards, (ok five metres, if you must) imaginatively.
Our grandmothers knew the varied roles saris could play: A pallau could wipe a child's dirt-stained face; it could help take a hot vessel with curry on the boil off the stove; it could be torn quickly when a bandage or tourniquet was needed at a moment's notice. It could become a handy hiding place for coins, a key holder, a shield from the sun or wandering eyes; it could cloak emotion and suggest everything from coyness to matriarchal sternness.
Taking strides
But the politician has taken the sari many strides further. Imagine Indira Gandhi in the salwar kameez (that she once announced publicly was the most comfortable and versatile of Indian costumes specially suited for the working woman), instead of her designer cotton saris. The impact of Mrs Gandhi in a sari, with long sleeved blouse, and the pallau sternly covering her head with only the characteristic steak of white shining through, must not have been lost a bit on those she beamed it on. There is no evidence she practised many looks before adopting this one, especially on her tours of the rural areas at pre-election rallies, but there is no denying it worked wonderfully.
The image she created was as strongly individual and recognisable as her father Jawaharlal Nehru's version of sherwani and churidars with the red rose in his buttonhole. Seeing her standing facing cameras at a rally or at the top of the steps of an aircraft as she waved to the crowd had an impact that was a mix of charisma and power; it brought to mind for those who had seen the film, Nargis in the final scenes of Mother India, when she takes up the rifle to shoot her erring son.
So strong an image could not be allowed to go waste ; it is little wonder that daughter- in- law Sonia decided to inherit it along with the saris of her mother-in-law, and, thus naturally, the mantle of leader, though uncrowned. Or take the sari as part of Jayalalitha's arsenal. The silks proclaim her cultural leanings, all things South Indian are part of her makeup... she belongs to the South, and the South thus belongs to her... that is the unspoken inference.
The mantle adds, especially for the unlettered follower of larger-than-life idols, the quality of her indeed being something cloaked in vestments that have a regality about them, appointing her with leadership qualities of the obvious kind. Kings and queens wore ermine cloaks, but in humid, torrid Chennai, Amma wears one of undetermined origin that might conceal a bullet-proof vest, or subconsciously suggest her intention of being supreme leader of her electoral empire.
Artless, yet tasteful
But it is Mamata who has drawn an ace in her use of the sari as weapon. Artlessly worn, in drapes that are in sharp contrast to the perfected styles of the other women who have walked the corridors of power, Mamata's sari style is a statement of her complete identification with the masses.u00a0Other women leaders believe that like any professional they need to put on a face and dress the part; Mamata plays it naturally, by not dressing up. Her clothes remain the same, as they were on the very first time she took to the public stage and shouted out her message to the listening crowd.
And rightly so. Mamata might share the same state of India as Sabyasachi Mukherji, but if the designer had indeed inspired her to wear one of his saris, however close to the Bengal heritage it might have been, it would have impaired the quality of her image, and worse still, made a terrible mismatch with her style of rhetoric.
Despite exceptions like Mayawati, who put aside the sari for more 'practical,' less womanly garb, and political sadhvis like Uma Bharti who prefer to wear their religion on their person, power women prefer the sari. It has, above all other qualities, the quality of adaptability to mood, style and circumstance. Which is something every politician treasures!
Sathya Saran is a writer and a columnist
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