Ursula Andress famously stepped out of the Caribbean Sea in a skimpy white bikini in 'Dr. No', the first James Bond movie and gave men sleepless nights. Dimple Kapadia did the same when she stepped dripping wet, out of a swimming pool, in 'Sagar'. The difference was that while the Bond girl resorted to just a miniscule amount of fabric to scorch the screen, the Bobby girl did it wrapped in six yards of blood red chiffon.

That, ladies and gentlemen is the power of the saree, feminine India’s national attire.

While women in the western world asphyxiated themselves to look alluring, thanks to Catherine de Medici (this frustrated Queen of France banned thick waists, consequently forcing women to torture themselves with whalebones, steel cages and tyrannical corsets) for centuries, women in the Indian sub-continent bore themselves as epitomes of beauty and grace, wrapped in the comfortable drapes of a saree.

Five yards of elegance and comfort. That is what a saree is. I don’t think any other apparel can cover so well AND highlight a woman’s sensuality like a saree can.

The origin of the saree lies tangled in the hazy coils of history, akin to what the court of Dhrithrashtra must have looked like after Dushasana (in)famously tried to strip Draupadi in the royal court and got more than what he bargained for when Krishna stepped into the scene. (Krishna had to put to good use all those sarees he flicked from the bathing gopikas back at Brindavan didn’t he?).

Back to the origin of the saree. Mythology follows us again, as Greek Goddess Aphrodite and the thousand ship launcher-Helen of Troy- have been portrayed in garments similar to the saree. Just a different kind of drape. Now the question is, “Who influenced who?”At this point, it should be noted that a precursor to the saree has been found on artifacts from the Indus Valley civilization. A question worth splitting fine silk threads over.

And today, the sari is recognised the world over as India’s national attire and our national costume highlights the nation’s favorite catchphrase ‘Unity in Diversity’ like no other apparel can. Each region has its own way of draping this length of unstitched material, each one as graceful as the other.  

Wear it Gujju style with the end pleats fanning out in front of your torso, displaying your exquisite pallu and neatly covering that ample middle at the same time; or the plucky Marathi style with one end pulled up between the legs and tucked behind you at the waist, adding some serious spunk; the under one shoulder, via the armpit and over the other shoulder Coorgi style; rural Tamil style, with a 'pin kosuvam', wagging a naughty tail at you; go for the simple and elegant Kerala cousin Mundum Neriyathum or step across the ocean to the interesting Singhalese style with the pleats not tucked in but blossoming out around the waist.  Or just go for plain old regular/Nivi style where you can primly gather the pleats and pin them at your shoulder or add some oomph factor when you let it ‘float’ in a single layer under the pretext of highlighting the beauty of your pallu, provided you have a figure to flaunt. Whatever be your preference, it is a style statement, no less.

And over the years, the saree has been making its own statement,draped around some remarkable women. From the fiery Draupadi’s endless saree that played its own role in causing a war, the homespun Khadi drapes of Kasturba who lent the garment quite dignity and pride and made it a symbol of resistance, the delicate pink number worn by Indira Gandhi at her wedding, famously handspun by Jawaharlal Nehru, the saree turned cloak that only Jayalalitha could carry off, down to the popular ones made famous by screen goddesses over the years.

And there have been some stars known for their sarees or for making their sarees look beautiful – Rekha, Hema Malini, Suhasini, Shoba De, Kiron Kher, Sree Devi (she might have messed it up big time with the red one she tried to wear on Moondram Pirai, but she simply sizzled with that electric blue one she gyrated seductively in, with a certain invisible super hero in Mr. India).

Talking about screen goddesses, several directors have hit the mother lode with a sure fire recipe. Throw in a curvaceous heroine, a plain, clingy, chiffon saree, a song and Indiwood’s favorite aphrodisiac-water. The setting could be anywhere from an urban rooftop to the Swiss Alps or a secluded waterfall. And voila not only do you have the macho hero reduced to putty in her hands; you also have the sweet smell of success at the box-office!