Muga- a wondrous creation of woven sunbeams

For years, as a child, I have stood behind my mother, impatient, footsore and sulky while my mother spent hour after hour pouring over one silk sari after another, in silk shops smelling of incense stick and betel nuts, which the Assamese women chewed incessantly. Some saris had a bad border, some were too gaudy and there were others which appeared to have too much of ‘mix’ involved. The one thing common between all of them, however, was that they were all golden in colour.

The colours were not the cheap yellow of my sweeper’s fake gold ornaments or the gaudy hues of synthetic blouses which stare back at you from the shelves of tiny street shops. It was the rich yellow ochre of pure liquid gold, and my eyes would linger over its sensuous lustre despite my childish impatience, and marvel at its shining surface which would reflect light at different angles. Then an end pf the sari would brush past my cheek and feel unusually coarse and rough instead of soft and supple. This would reinforce my poor opinion of silk and I would return to tugging at my mother’s clothes and pouting to make her hurry.

The years went by and I came to know that this fabric was called ‘muga’. I also heard the word ‘expensive’ always mentioned every time a woman talked of muga with a sparkle in her eyes, so I came to the conclusion that muga cost a lot. It was probably another one of those things which my mother had in plenty, made no use of, yet insisted on buying every time she saw it.

I’ve gleaned knowledge of this wondrous fabric from various quarters over the years and what I’ve learnt about it have turned me into a raving fan. Here’s what I know about it.

Muga silk is native to Assam and has been an integral part of its cultural heritage since the thirteenth century (that’s more than 800 years). Muga’s golden sheen made it appear royal. The Ahom kings ensured that muga was reserved only for royalty in order to appear more powerful and kingly. Its sensuous lustre and natural golden shade made its wearer appear as though he were sheathed in pure gold. However, the recent corruption of Muga’s purity has reduced the sheath to mere gold plating.



And now, a tiny peek into what Muga is for all those of you wondering what I’ve been talking about in the paragraph above. Those of you rolling your eyeballs at this short detour of mine may please forgive me and go about watering the lawn or humming a tune while I give a short brief on Muga to the laymen.

Muga is obtained from a semi domesticated silk worm called Aantheraea asamenisis. This worm is a native of Assam and is not found anywhere else in the world. It’s a fact which much pleases these worms as they placidly go about their business chewing on the barks of the Som and Soalu plants. They are collected in their larval stage when they march down the tree trunks swollen with self importance.

Muga silk itself is a raw silk and thus has a papery texture. It has a very low affinity towards dyes and is generally left uncoloured. Muga has a natural golden lustre and “looks just like gold”, as explained by Nina, a resident of Assam. If good old Ian Fleming’s gold obsessed villain Goldfinger had known about Muga he’d have probably dressed his female victims in Muga mekhalas, instead of covering them with gold paint*. This would at least have allowed them to remain covered.

Muga also has a peculiar quality of appearing more lustrous after every wash. It is an extremely durable fabric and has been even known to outlive its owners sometimes. It is the second costliest material after Pashmina shawls. Muga mekhalas are thus prized possessions in every Assamese household and are handed down generations as heirlooms. Weaving silk is such an integral part of this state’s culture that almost every household possesses a handloom and a girl in Assam is considered unfit for marriage if she cannot weave. Traditionally, a girl would weave her own marriage mekhala and strive to fill it lovingly with the most attractive and intricate designs she could think of.

The cost of pure Muga is about Rs. 500 per meter. The cost of other silks such as Pat silk is Rs. 250 to Rs. 300 per meter. The price of impure Muga, which has been mixed with Pat can come down to Rs. 450 or less. Mixed silk is a big menace in the silk industry in Assam. Watered down versions of the once regal Muga silk have now flooded the market. People tend to compromise over quality and buy them because of their slightly less expensive price tag. Sometimes fabric blending is practiced to increase the versatility of the fabric. For example, Muga shawls may require blending with cotton for increasing warmth and softness of the fabric. Certain blending lends an interesting texture to the Muga fabric. Mixed fabric is not always purchased by people primarily keeping the price factor in mind. Sometimes people buy it when they find the mixed fabric prettier than pure muga. Mixed Muga is sometimes more lustrous and attractive than pure Muga.

The buying and selling of blended fabrics for practical purposes is understandable since it is necessary to increase its versatility and survive in the market. The problem arises when Muga mixed with cheaper silks or other fabrics is either sold as pure Muga or is knowingly purchased by people who are ready to compromise on the quality for a cheaper price. Such problems generally arise on account of unscrupulous silk merchandisers and the low economic situations of the weavers. The latter seldom receive the credit which is due to them for keeping our heritage alive. Since, we cannot do much about rogue shopkeepers who thrive on the concept of ‘milaavat’ perhaps buying silks from certified Government outlets for handlooms is a better option. The living condition of the weavers can be improved and they can be ensured a constant supply of silk. This could keep them from resorting to the use of unscrupulous means for earning a decent standard of living for them. Muga silk is a priceless treasure which needs to be protected before it dies out and enters the pages of history books. It is our responsibility to stop the buying and selling of impure Muga in order to keep the essence of the real craft alive. Our revered heritage is far more priceless than the profits earned through the sale of its fake copies.

Lustrous and divine, inexplicable and mysterious, muga silk fulfils every woman’s dream of appearing striking and singular. Its sensuous charm makes me sometimes feel that it belongs to the kingdom of dreams. I no longer blame my mother for the sore feet and long hours in silk shops. She taught me to love a dream………..a dream woven from a sunbeam.

*Ian Fleming, Goldfinger

Second day of Lakme Fashion Week

28th March (MENSWEAR DAY)
“Fashion is the art, designers are the gods, Models play the part of angels in the dark, Which one of you would ever dare to go against, That beauty is a trade and everyone is paid”

-Lyrics from Fashionista by Jimmy James

The second day of the Lakme Fashion week dawned like any other day for me. I woke up, made a little extra effort to dress up, grabbed my bag and keys and then scooted off. The only change in my routine was that I’d had to catch the Andheri ‘direct’ that day, which would take me to the Grand Hyatt without the hassle of changing trains. I pitied the designers and organizers though, and wondered how many sleepless nights and nerve wrenching deadlines had been endured by them to put up the show.

The venue was a little tricky to find and felt alien compared to the familiar environs of the NCPA. The heavy security was apparent at the gates itself where cars were being checked (for car bombs, perhaps) and no car passed without being halted for a two minute check by the security guards. Since, I had entered the premises on just my two feet I sauntered uneventfully through the gates with my friends. The glass walls of the Grand Hyatt were perfect for me to check myself out while passing by, and settle in strands of hair that were out of place. But of course my unruly hair was completely messy as usual so I didn’t bother much anyway and walked towards the entrance. All this while my shoe strap kept coming lose and ending up under my heels. Extremely irritating.

The x-ray machines at the entrance reminded me of the three-fold security at the Taj. The sight of all that security was, in a way, comforting because it ensured that we’d be protected if some bored terrorist decided he’d blow up the Grand Hyatt for lack of anything else to do. My bag retrieved at the end of the check, I headed inside the hotel. I was surprised at not being subjected to body check with the metal detector. Did they expect that only men went around carrying bombs and guns? Who assassinated the Prime Minister in ’91, huh?

The reception area of the Grand Hyatt was a flurry of activity. Designers, socialites and organizers were scurrying about, leaving trails of expensive perfume behind while looking fashionably harassed. Fashion Weeks are places where ‘who are you wearing?’ gains priority over ‘what are you wearing?’ The people here were no exception and were dressed to the teeth. As we descended the marble steps after flashing our college IDs, my friend Tolly’s bag strap snapped and the bag fell down with a thud (apparently it was full of things, including a pair of spare heels she’d wear for clubbing later in the evening).

It was extremely confusing to find our way around the place and we had no idea where the stalls were so we decided to simply hang around the show area so as to not miss the one o’clock show. As the area began to fill with people I noticed the graphics on the walls. Africa is the muse of most designers this season and it reflected in the grasslands and earthy colours used in the graphics. To the left was a glass wall with a door which led to the open air. A lot of people, including a few models were standing outside and smoking there.

A few minutes before the show began, the air was filled with the tinkling sound of what I soon saw, was a xylophone. A young boy with curly hair and wearing the black volunteer t-shirt was walking up and down near the show area and playing on a small, handheld xylophone. Apparently this was a call informing everyone that the show was about to start.

The first show was the Accessory Show by Little Shilpa and one of the best that day. The models sashayed down the ramp in military costumes and eccentric headgear. Military medals emblazoned the fronts of some. The headgear varied from Las Vegas plumes to metal caps with rotating fans. Some had a mass of military caps piled on their heads. Woollen cut-finger gloves were worn along with glittering brocade by others. Monikangana walked with a net trailing behind her. The showstopper was an ensemble with the skirt resembling a deconstructed tent and wore a glittering gas mask over the model's face. All this while the screen behind played video clips from the World War. The music turned creepy towards the end as the models, all with their faces covered in gas masks, gathered in the middle of the ramp and the lights dimmed. It was next to impossible to make out the designer when she made her entrance since was so small and I felt for a moment that she was a young girl.

The Show by Malaga which was inspired by Egypt seemed shabby in comparision and I could see, even from my back row seats that some of the bags were shoddy looking and had a bad finishing.

Another show which impressed me was the five o’clock show by Krishna Mehta. (Before the show started, Tolly gave another demonstration of her superior intelligence by pointing at Vinay Pathak, who was flanked by two pretty girls, and asking,”who is that fat man?”) The clothes were inspired by the story of Joseph from Egypt and had a biblical charm. A live band on the left was playing the music while an old man narrated the story from the sound console. Cyrus Broacha, Boman Irani and Kunal Khemu walked the ramp for to promote their new film 99.

The men’s show day was, strangely, packed with men, who were mostly really cute to look at but my hopes had crashed when i saw that they already had ‘boyfriends’. Most women (and some men) couldn’t keep from blushing and drooling at the models when they walked down the ramp. Aryan Baruah looked especially ravishing in Krishna Mehta’s brocade jackets.

We were chased away after the 5 0’clock show and we decided we’d head back home since the later shows required passes which we did not possess. It had started just as any other day for me but ended as one which would find a special place in my memory.

let's unplug grandma

Imagine you’re old, wasted, wrinkled and lying in a nearly vegetable state on a hospital bed in some god forsaken nursing home. You can’t move your limbs and there are a number of tubes at several odd places on your body. You can’t move your arms or wave away your children but only watch in silent mortification as they argue about who inherits your estate and, agree on pulling your plug. Your chapter is closed and it is decided by the people you helped bring into the world, when you ought to be exiting from it.

Euthanasia is the deliberate killing of a person through medical means, in the interests of the people. Euthanasia can be voluntary, where the person is given euthanasia according to the person’s free will. Voluntary euthanasia in some forms is accepted in a few countries such as the Netherlands where euthanasia was legalized in 2002. Euthanasia can also be carried out involuntarily in which case the patient’s family decides for the individual. Since involuntary euthanasia is conducted without the consent of the patient, it is considered by many to be the equivalent of murder. Euthanasia can be conducted passively through the withholding of medicines, or administration of lethal pain relieving drugs such as morphine. Non aggressive euthanasia involves the withdrawing of life support system and aggressive euthanasia involves the use of lethal drugs or any other forceful ways to kill.

The pro euthanasia groups always give the example of an individual lying in hospital and in great suffering, with numerous tubes sticking into various parts of the body. Such a person, they say, who is unable to live a life with any meaning in it and, is in great pain, ought to be relieved of suffering through euthanasia. Also, they believe that the freedom of voluntary death in such cases should be granted to the patients as such a choice is an individual’s right in a free country. The patients should also be entitled to a death with dignity, instead of dragging along for ages and finally dying one day, bringing more of relief than sadness to their near and dear ones. The proponents of voluntary euthanasia also claim that the old, infirm and disabled, who do not contribute much to economy, ought to be replaced by the younger generation who are more active. The hospital beds occupied by patients in a vegetable state will be replaced by patients in actual need of medical treatment.

However, most people believe euthanasia to be a violation of the sanctity of life. Voluntary euthanasia is considered to be a form of suicide while involuntary euthanasia is regarded as murder. It demeans the value of the lives of the disabled and infirm. Euthanasia is becoming more prevalent as people living fast lives in big cities have begun to live lives controlled more by logic and reason, than by emotions and feelings. When the lives of old and disabled are left in their care, they are unable to spend time with them, or willing to spend money on what appears to them to be a vegetable. These people resort to euthanasia as the means of ridding themselves of an undying relative, as well as save their money and time. Sometimes, the patients are put under pressure to opt for voluntary euthanasia, rather than being a burden on their families. On religious grounds, euthanasia in any form is unacceptable as it violates the sanctity of life, and hails suffering as a means of being one with God. Closer to reality, euthanasia is employed by some avaricious relatives in order to end the lives of extremely old relatives whose death would entitle them to the patient’s estate and property; they end their lives unnaturally under the guise of mercy killing in such circumstances. The Netherlands, where voluntary euthanasia is practiced legally, senior citizens are sometimes afraid of getting admitted to hospitals due to the high rate of mercy killings of the elderly and infirm. Films such as ‘Million Dollar Baby’ addresses Euthanasia in an insensitive way, where the protagonist of the movie, a boxer my profession, on being paralyzed neck down forces her friend to administer a lethal injection to her, as her life as an invalid left no meaning for her.

In a country like India euthanasia cannot be legalized due to the presence of an extremely diverse culture, and the presence of a population which follows a variety of religions having their rules on the sanctity of life. In our country we place our families above all else and the life of elderly members is especially valued by all. This leads us on to resort to all means possible to lengthen rather than shorten their lives when they fall ill, with ample time to look after them as our lives in India follow a slower pace than in western nations. We’d rather let them drag on in a comatose state for years, to be able to be in their presence rather than pull off their life support system and watch them die. The patient’s pleas for voluntary euthanasia are also dismissed as the by product of a delirious mind and further strengthens the resolve of their family to keep them alive longer.

Euthanasia is an extremely controversial subject which is regarded differently by groups of different backgrounds, religions and cultures. While voluntary euthanasia raises a few eyebrows now then, involuntary euthanasia is considered akin to murder by most people, and is outlawed in a number of countries due to its serious implications and its violation towards the sanctity of life. There might be a lesser amount of time in the hands of most people and medical care cannot be afforded by all but, that does not mean that the lives of those who are unable to actively contribute to society have no value. Life is a beautiful gift and it cannot be taken away from anyone according to the whims and fancies of others. No one lives forever and none of us is immortal yet everyone has a right to live as they want and for however long they want. Let the Grim Reaper do his work while we do ours.