Marigold: Veldhari Kanjeevaram, Korvai Rudraksham Border

I was not woven to be worn once and folded away. I am marigold, the colour offered at the feet of the divine, and I carry myself the way an offering does, with intention, not haste. Look closely at my body and you will find veldhari, waves that bend and dip, each curve holding a small dot of gold like a thought completed before the next begins. This is an old hand's work, a layout not every weaver still remembers, let alone attempts. My border was woven apart from me and joined by hand, magenta deepening into a red that has the weight of ceremony in it. Elephants process along my edge the way they once processed before kings. I am not made for a single wearer. I am made to be taken out on the days that matter, worn with care, and passed on when the time comes, so that someone not yet born will one day stand in me the way you do now. Grand enough for a goddess, precious enough to outlast us both.