There is a beautiful word in Bengali called “Pichutan”. It denotes a connection or attachment to a place or someone that keeps you wanting to come back, despite your desire to move on and grow. I never realised it would be a feeling I would resonate with, not even subconsciously. The echoes of my voice as I had screamed out my desperation of wanting to move out of my home still exist in the quaint corners of my memory. Yet, there also exists the tune of nostalgia in that same memory of mine. There exists a tale spun with the threads of affection and memories of my past; the past that appears like a fever dream now.
In the midst of scavenging for the perfect saree for my university’s fest, I stumbled upon a treasure trove- a classic Bengali taant Saree, tucked away among a sea of fabrics. The saree that had always filled up my grandmother’s wardrobe had over the years become a signature product of remembrance for me; and just like that, the iconic saree became a portal to the heart of my childhood, it became a portal to a world where love, laughter, and the spirit of exploration danced hand in hand, a portal to my dimma’s embrace.
Sarees from my grandmother’s cupboard had always enchanted me growing up. Each saree a silent witness to a different chapter of her life, had always fueled me up with the temptation to try and attempt to transform myself into a pint-sized version of Dimma through impromptu cosplay sessions (emphasis on try). On lazy summer afternoons, the kind that Kolkata is known for, my grandmother’s cupboard would become my personal sanctuary of discovery and amusement.
The love for sarees has always been more than a fashion statement for my grandmother; it has been a silent ode to her roots, a connection to the rich cultural tapestry that defines her identity. She would recount tales of the timeless elegance of Jamdani weaves, and the simple beauty of a taant saree that I always thought had mirrored her understated beauty.
Bengal’s rural artisans are embodied in the taant, with its light texture and delicate handloom artistry. The fabric carries the weight of tradition and whispered tales of expert weavers’ calloused hands crafting a canvas. The sheer grace of the saree, as my grandmother would unfold it, would become a doorway to a universe where Bengal’s heart beat resonates in every weave and weft.
Even to this day, my grandmother’s image of herself in the Bengali taant saree comes to life every time the pleasant aroma of sandalwood and incense fills the air during Durga Puja. Traditions, like the strands of a handloom, link generations, weaving a story that is beyond the constraints of time. They bind me and my heritage, the women in my life who have served as pioneers irrespective of distance.
And so as I continue to explore what I had yearned for, a new life in a new city with new people, Bangalore in this case; the taant saree remains a cherished companion. It acts as a binding thread between me and the women of my family; my present and my past. Transcending borders and cultures, it echoes the emotions of home being more than a place and not simply existing as a relic of the past, but as a way for me to keep on going back to my home.
The Bengali taant becomes a remedy for my “Pichutan”.
