Red found me before silk did, the colour Banaras keeps for its finest katan. Small gold booti sit across my length like something planted rather than woven, each one holding its shape against the deep red canvas. My dupatta carries the same buttis in miniature, then lets them grow bolder where they meet my pallu. Zari runs thick along my border, unwilling to let the red go unframed. I am the shade a mother saves for a daughter's first big Banarasi, not loud, just certain of itself. Wear me where red is expected to mean something.