Every summer vacation, I found myself in Pithoragarh — then a sleepy little town in the hills of Uttarakhand, where my Naani Maa’s small pahadi house stood right near the market. The wooden floors creaked in rhythm with time, and a small courtyard smelled of wet earth and freshly plucked aadu.

But most vivid in all those memories… was her saree.

A soft cotton saree — yellow, with tiny orange and white flowers and happy little polka dots. Light as a breeze, humble as her smile.

On Tuesdays, she wore it with unmatched pride — for the weekly Sunderkaand Paath. Her pallu was over her head, gold bangles chimed gently, and she had that unmistakable confident stride to the temple, a small wick basket with flowers, prasad, and mishri box tucked neatly inside. Her devotion didn’t need fanfare — it was folded into her routine like her saree pleats.

But oh, the saree had a life of its own.
Every summer, it returned in a new avatar — like an actor in a new role, stealing the scene without saying a word.

One year, it had transformed into window curtains — two sets, swaying gently in the breeze, filtering sunlight onto the wooden floor like gold dust.

Next summer — four tablecloths, layered lovingly under steel plates of gahat ke paranthe, bhatt ki daal, and bhaang ki chutney — the flavors as rich as the stories being passed around the table.

Then napkins — stitched neatly, soft and familiar, passed around during giggles and second servings.

Later, it became a duster — banishing cobwebs and dust with the same grace Naani had when she stirred the evening tea.

After that, it spent some years drying
copper lotas and steel thalis — no complaints, just quiet duty.

And finally, it settled into kitchen life as a humble slab wipe — still soft, still useful, still bearing traces of turmeric and love.

Seven summers.
Seven roles.
One saree.

No frills, no landfill, just good old Indian common sense and quiet recycling.
They didn’t label it “sustainable” — they just were.

Our grandparents didn’t go to zero-waste workshops. They just used everything till it stopped being useful — and even then, found a way.

From coconut shells turned into ladles to pickle jars reused for generations — they lived with awareness without ever calling it that.

Meanwhile today… we declutter by ordering more storage boxes online. Minimalism with express delivery.

But back then, they made more out of less — and did it with pride.

I didn’t inherit that saree. But I carry its story in the folds of memory — yellow with flowers, soft with use, and stitched forever into my summers.
Some legacies aren’t gold or land. Some just wipe kitchen slabs and still make your eyes tear up — with gratitude.
⸻Suvi’s Scribbles