On Caring for Clothes (The Way Your Grandmother Taught You)
Beejliving presents a guide to caring for clothes. Treat your wardrobe like an heirloom, not a haul
The Philosophy
Before we get to soap and steam, let’s talk about soul.
Clothes, in Indian households, are not things.
They’re memories stitched with thread.
A silk kurta worn to a cousin’s shaadi,
A cotton sari that smells like a bygone era.
You don’t just wash them. You honour them.
Hand Washing is a Love Language
You don’t throw a saree into a machine.
You soak it—cool water, reetha if you’re feeling ancestral.
You don’t wring or knead it like dough.
No harshness, no haste.
Because you’re not cleaning cloth.
You’re preserving a story.
Know Your Fabrics Like You Know Your People
Chiffon is delicate.
Khadi is proud.
Silk needs silence and shade.
Polyester—well, do as you please.
But cotton, hemp and linen? They are your best friend:
faithful, a little wrinkled, always there.
Ironing Is a Ritual
It’s Sunday morning. The radio is playing Lata.
There’s steam rising like monsoon chai.
You press the kurta slowly,
not to flatten it, but to awaken its grace.
This is not ironing.
It’s prayer.
Wrap it Right
Your grandmother didn’t fold clothes.
She wrapped them in mulmul.
Stored saris in butter paper.
Put naphthalene balls like hidden blessings. (I use camphor now.)
She made the wardrobe smell like a time machine.
Let Fabrics Breathe
Plastic covers are for fear.
Cotton bags are for care.
Let your clothes inhale.
Open the cupboard sometimes and just… look at them.
Admire. Revisit. Rewear.
Sunlight is Medicine
Hang whites in the sun. Even the old ones need vitamin D.
Let turmeric-stained and naturally dyed clothes bask in the shade.
But never let silks sweat under the sun.
They are nocturnal creatures.
The Art of Mending
A loose thread isn’t a flaw.
It’s a chance to show commitment.
Learn to stitch.
Not to fix, but to restore.
There’s dignity in repair.
And beauty in wearing things more than once.
Epilogue
Care for your clothes like you care for your culture—
with patience, with reverence, with a bit of mothball-scented humour.
Because fast fashion fades.
But the sari your grandmother wore as a young bride?
That stays.
