The Solanki saree

Sarees come in mind-boggling varieties: Kanjeevaram, Benaras, muga, silk cotton, Chanderi, and the list goes on. But have you heard of a Solanki saree? “What is that ?” you may ask. It is not just a saree; it is a family tradition dating back to the 1950s.

My maternal grandparents lived in the second lane of Hindu Colony, Dadar, Mumbai, and on the first was an unpretentious cloth shop called Solanki Cloth Stores. In the 1950s, Dadar was a quiet, middle-class residential area, and the Solanki cloth shop catered to their requirements. The shop, measuring 8 feet by 18 feet, had waist-high counters with storage space and shelves on the side. It was owned by three brothers and their cousin, who was a ladies’ tailor. My mother and her three sisters bought their clothes there; Solanki supplied their wedding sarees, and they continued buying clothes from that shop whenever they visited Dadar. The relationship didn’t end there.

From boarding school, we used to go to Dadar for our winter vacation. So back again to Solanki for skirts and frocks! The shop had a limited stock of material, but we had to select from that, and the tailor decided the pattern. Occasionally, I’d suggest a pattern that one of my seniors had worn, and the tailor would oblige. Later, the senior would get angry and I was labelled a copycat! I didn’t understand her need for exclusivity. But soon, those years passed. And I started wearing sarees, many bought from Solankis.

In the late 1970s, the Solankis opened another shop in the Matunga market that sold the more expensive sarees. When I went to Mumbai a few years after my wedding, I told my husband that I must visit Solankis in the first lane. The old-timers were still there, and they recognised me. But my husband was unimpressed and didn’t understand why the shop held a special place in my memories.

On a visit to Mumbai a few months ago, my 86-year-old mother wanted to go to the Solanki shop. As the shop in the first lane is now closed, my uncle took her to the air-conditioned outlet in Matunga.

The shop is now managed by the third generation of Solankis, and they did not know my mother but understood that she’s an old customer and asked her to be seated. For old times’ sake, she bought sarees there, and they gave her what she thought was a huge discount. When I saw the sarees, I asked her why she’d gone to Mumbai to buy South Indian cotton at double the price! Then a cousin in the family WhatsApp group quipped that Matunga has a South Indian atmosphere and should be called “Matungam.”

Finally, when I wore the saree on my birthday and sent pictures to the group giving the saree credit to Solankis, the dam of family memories burst.