That evening, while returning home by the usual jam-packed local, I wondered how our clothes feel, fighting, scraping against each other in a stuffy space we did not have enough room to breathe in. The thought was random, and could have been a fleeting one.
But for the lack of anything better, and to take my mind off the perpetually annoyed (annoying, really) ladies in the first class compartment, I decided to go with it. What would happen if clothes could express? What would they say? Soon enough I got a seat and the wind fanned my thoughts like fire.
That pair of your favorite jeans would tell you they needed to be washed weeks ago. That stained blue shirt would complain that it would have liked chocolate ice cream better. That beautiful sari would blush at the thought of making you look like a million bucks on the most memorable day of your life. That torn frock would weep when recounting its memories of coming under your bicycle tire  That school uniform would get chills just remembering the water fights in the bus. That dupatta would have fond memories of your children tugging at it. And that torn sari would feel squeamish all over again at the thought of being tied to your daughter’s bleeding hand.
Our clothes have lived through all our memories with us; and remember much more than what we do.
If they could talk, we would probably sit and catch up with our clothes every once in a while, and it would be as exciting as meeting old friends for a gossip session! So clothes might actually become a way of connecting to parts of you that you never knew existed.
I was suddenly back to earth as the train approached Kurla station. Cursing myself for indulging in pointless discussions with my mind, I hurriedly got off.
Not entirely pointless as I realized later.
That night, after brushing my teeth, I decided against wiping hands on my shorts.
Just in case they decide to talk. 🙂

Rashmi Shankar

N.I.F.T Mumbai