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Dyed Flowers
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Owing to the humid climate of Goa, you’d find more flowers printed on a woman’s dress than in a well-maintained garden.
It surprised me to notice that floral patterns seemed to be the frequent clothing choice of middle-aged Goan women. I decided to make a note of all the different floral prints I’d come across that day. I ended with a bunch of literary descriptions that hardly captured the beauty of the dyed flowers.
At the entrance of the roofed fish market in Panaji, I found an interesting subject. She was approximately in her forties. Her knee-length umbrella dress was made of shiny nylon, with tiny orange flowers printed in alternate rows. From a distance, I almost dismissed her dress for a striped one. Looking more closely, I recognized the flowers as the ones that grew in my very own garden. Every morning my neighbour plucked the little orange beauties to offer them as a garland during her puja. I didn’t think they’d look this pretty on someone’s dress.
The next subject was waiting for someone outside a church. She was dressed in a skirt and a blouse. Against the black background of her clothing were printed enormous white periwinkles. They stood out so strongly against the inky black that one couldn’t help but notice her clothing. For a second I wondered why she hadn’t chosen another colour for the flowers. I then realized – she was wearing black and white. Someone she loved had just passed away.
I was just going to infer from my observations that women preferred the simpler range of flowers printed on their clothes when I noticed her - a rotund woman with velvet clothing talking loudly in the compound of the house across the street. From the way the house was decorated, it looked like they were going to celebrate a marriage soon. Thermocol hearts with an R and an S (most probably the couple’s initials) intertwined on them were pasted all over the walls. The woman appeared to be the host. She was wearing a full–sleeved velvet blouse with blood red roses covering her blouse with two-dimensional vines. They shone so brightly under the humid sun that I almost expected to smell their fragrance from the distance.
‘You look so beautiful,’ I heard someone compliment her. ‘Just like the roses.’
So that is why the women prefer floral prints and patterns, I thought.
Because if you can’t beat beauty, you have to befriend it.
It surprised me to notice that floral patterns seemed to be the frequent clothing choice of middle-aged Goan women. I decided to make a note of all the different floral prints I’d come across that day. I ended with a bunch of literary descriptions that hardly captured the beauty of the dyed flowers.
At the entrance of the roofed fish market in Panaji, I found an interesting subject. She was approximately in her forties. Her knee-length umbrella dress was made of shiny nylon, with tiny orange flowers printed in alternate rows. From a distance, I almost dismissed her dress for a striped one. Looking more closely, I recognized the flowers as the ones that grew in my very own garden. Every morning my neighbour plucked the little orange beauties to offer them as a garland during her puja. I didn’t think they’d look this pretty on someone’s dress.
The next subject was waiting for someone outside a church. She was dressed in a skirt and a blouse. Against the black background of her clothing were printed enormous white periwinkles. They stood out so strongly against the inky black that one couldn’t help but notice her clothing. For a second I wondered why she hadn’t chosen another colour for the flowers. I then realized – she was wearing black and white. Someone she loved had just passed away.
I was just going to infer from my observations that women preferred the simpler range of flowers printed on their clothes when I noticed her - a rotund woman with velvet clothing talking loudly in the compound of the house across the street. From the way the house was decorated, it looked like they were going to celebrate a marriage soon. Thermocol hearts with an R and an S (most probably the couple’s initials) intertwined on them were pasted all over the walls. The woman appeared to be the host. She was wearing a full–sleeved velvet blouse with blood red roses covering her blouse with two-dimensional vines. They shone so brightly under the humid sun that I almost expected to smell their fragrance from the distance.
‘You look so beautiful,’ I heard someone compliment her. ‘Just like the roses.’
So that is why the women prefer floral prints and patterns, I thought.
Because if you can’t beat beauty, you have to befriend it.
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