For the last few hours, my lips remained unmoved and almost sealed together, except for the occasional soft smiles at other gallery visitors. Our eye contact and reciprocated smiles eased us into a telepathic conversation, where we let each other know that we see one another and that we were both here to learn a thing or two. The moments of interaction faded as one of us broke into a different space in the exhibition hall - yet each other's familiarity gave us some comfort amid an unfamiliar room.
While my lips stayed still, my eyes and ears seemed to be working overtime as they tried to make sense of the drapes of sunflower-yellow fabric clinging to the muted pink walls and the periodic sounds of ringing bells, car honking and people hollering, which I stereotypically associated with the streets of Mumbai.
A combination of spotlights and narrow tube lights hung from the ceiling; they successfully played their role by showing off the colours and patterns of each sari while convincing me that the pairing of a sari and trainers is one to normalise.
Despite each sari sharing an untold and fascinating story, I found myself intrigued by the people occupying the exhibition space. A metre or two away from me, I noticed a pregnant lady huddled by a group of women in their early thirties. It was something about the way they gathered around her (not too close and not too far) that told me they must be her colleagues. As a group, they made their collective effort to resonate their walking speeds with the gentle pace of the pregnant lady and occasionally checked if she was ok. I smiled at their effort to support the pregnant lady and walked towards a wall projected with six videos (all playing at once and wordless) sharing different ways of wearing a sari.
Also approaching this wall were five South Asian women - who seemed to be in their 50s. We collected around this simple wall decorated with projected videos. In the corner of my eye, I could see fingers being pointed at different videos as they each claimed the draping and pleating methods that they were most familiar with. I couldn't help but overhear their comments on the differently patterned saris - the tone of their voice made it somewhat easy to distinguish which ones they less appreciated and adored. I giggled inside as I felt I caught a glimpse of my 50s. I stood amazed by their investment in this exhibition and hoped that my fascination with galleries and museums remained as high as theirs.
If you hadn't guessed, I was at The Offbeat Sari exhibition at the Design Museum. This was another one of my mini-solo gallery visits, but this particular visit reminded me of the joy of having this alone time. My senses were heightened, and I didn't find myself lost in conversation - I just watched and listened attentively.
What do you like to do in your alone time?
A couple of photos at the Design Museum...
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