The significance of the sari – and the coronation

I was in awe when my mother gave me a beautiful sari just before she went to Bangladesh last month – a sari gifted to her by her father over 50 years ago. It is a priceless family heirloom made of a royal blue delicate net material, embedded with small hand-embroidered paisley motifs woven by village women. Growing up in the mid-seventies in England, I looked forward to opening the parcels my grandparents sent to my mother. Tearing the wrappings open, a river of lush silk would slip through my hands as I inhaled the sweet scent of sandalwood and intense camphor.

I would tuck the edges of a sari into the helm of my skirt, create pleats in the middle with my trained agile fingers, and then drape the end over my shoulder and pose in the mirror. As a Kent girl, I remember in the Eighties how excited I felt when shopping before special occasions at Titash Novelties and the Modern Saree Centre in Brick Lane, helping relatives to choose saris from an array of prints and designs.

During the early Nineties, I wore saris to work in east London, as did many other Bangladeshi and South Asian women. My sister-in-law and I often wore plain soft silk saris, with matching blouses to work in the summer, which we bought from Green Street and Ilford Lane.