Frayed fabric
Pallavi rummaged through her mother’s sari collection. “I just cannot fathom why someone would collect so many saris in their lifetime,” she muttered. That was a strange comment since her own livelihood depended on people hoarding saris. Pallavi was a designer with one of the famous sari boutiques in Mumbai. A boutique frequented by the crème de la crème of Mumbai including many Bollywood celebrities. She was appreciated and known for her work, meticulous, and creative. “Am I really aiding this madness of hoarding in people?” she wondered wryly for the first time, with her hands on her head, daunted by the sheer magnitude of her work. Her mother Sindhu Shivakumar was a renowned socialite, and social worker, quite like many of Pallavi’s clients. “Actually, ma was just a social menace,” Pallavi said under her breath looking at her mother’s supine form on the bed. Could she hear her? The doctors had said that they were not sure. It could not be ascertained yet. Sindhu had suffered a mas