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April's
Musings
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
"Shawls"
 In
Rajasthan, India if you are a desert dweller, a shawl can almost
be your home. A shawl can be a blanket, a tent, a protection
against invasive looks, a cloak of modesty, a fabric beneath
which a baby is held, nursed, bundled, the shawl can protect
you from cold and wind if it is wool, from heat and sun if it
is cotton. A shawl is a method of ornamentation, an exhibition
of wealth, or taste or caste or tribe. The monetary value of
a shawl can be high or low or anywhere in between but the value
of a shawl is always more than its price.
Rajasthan is far from Montreal, and further still is the shawl
of Kashmir, the shawl—a shahtoosh, so fine and thin and
soft that 6 meters disappear through Akbar's ring. The shawl
of soft colors natural to the beards of the Billy goats that
range the hills of Kashmir, or woven in the hottest colors of
the year, the shawl in patterns of paisley Jamavars, worn by
Victorians and loved by Islam. The shawl of popular appreciation
in our cold Montreal—the shawl that we have come to adore,
collect and appreciate in the West, loving it for fashion and
in the wearing, gaining an understanding of its Eastern value.
Last Saturday that shawl of intrinsic value showed me another
side in Montreal. I
visited my mother-in-law, a victim of stroke in a Montreal Elder
Care Hospital. She, an artist, was wrapped in her red wool Jamavar
shawl—her main fashion statement in a life that robbed
her of her own expression. It was an expression of the love
of others for her, in this grey institution and as I walked
the halls with her and my father-in-law I saw other women, with
shawls on their laps and on their shoulders, pinks and wines
and greens—blessings on their knees from countries and
craftsmen faraway—love in a shawl from their daughters
and daughters-in-law, trying so hard to express the intrinsic
values, warmth and care and remembrance in the giving of a cloth.
In the wrapping of a body, when arms cannot be there, in beauty
and softness and pattern and warmth. A message in a shawl of:
"I am thinking of you." You are so important to me."
I think the Rajasthanis have it right—a shawl that is only
fabric and can fold as small as little packet, can also
be a home and open as wide and as big as the need—just
like our hearts.
I love shawls.
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