I started working on this piece on Mother’s Day.
The silk comes from a sari I inherited from my mother, which I have worn but once. I finally gathered up the strength to wear it without being overwhelmed. Afterward, I put it away wrapped in tissue, stored in a camphor chest, cossetted. A year later, I noticed the delicate silk ripped.
I started working on this piece on Mother’s Day, but it wasn’t just a reflection of personal grief. It is also my sense of guilt. I grew up with rights my mothers and grandmothers fought for, and as I pleated this sari fragment, I know I have squandered them for my child. Because of my generation’s inability to keep the wolves at bay, there will be missing women. Again.
Other Work From Manju Sadarangani
