#Light weight Silk Sarees

[studioayanasilksareesboutique]

Kanchipuram Light Weight Zari Work Border Silk Sarees - Saveri

Rs. 13,699.00

Product Details:

Kanjivaram light weight silk saree with contrast zari pallu and borders

Zari woven designs all over

Contrast silk blouse

(as shown in last image)

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[womensclothingworld]

Light Weight Silk Sarees | Plain Kanchipuram Sarees | Contrast Border Sarees Online - Sundari Silks

This handwoven Light Weight Kanchipuram Silk Saree comes in plain navy blue body with contrast border in green and purple. The border houses paisley design in gold zari. The pallu features stripes design in zari. Includes unstitched blouse piece.

Shop from: sundarisilks.com/collections/kanchipuram-silks

Visit our website: sundarisilks.com/

[indiansareedesigns07]

Discover the Rich Cultural Heritage of Madurai's Handloom

Introduction

Madurai, a city in the western corner of Tamil Nadu, is not only famous for its rich cultural heritage but also for its fine cotton sarees and handloom weaving industry. The city has been producing some of the finest cotton sarees in India for centuries, and its thread is used for making not only cotton sarees but also other varieties of sarees.

Madurai Cotton: The Finest Thread in India

Madurai cotton is renowned for its fine quality and softness. The city and its vicinity produce some of the finest cotton sarees in India, and the thread produced here is used by tailors and other people for day-to-day stitching of clothes. In the olden days, mercerized cotton sarees were made with a silk border, but today the border is made of polyester or shining cotton. The body of the saree remains the same, made of the same material as before. The cloth is of very light weight and is ideal for summer wear.

Madurai Cotton vs. Bengal Cotton

Madurai cotton is slightly thicker than Bengal cotton but much more superior to Bengal cotton. The border and pallav make it ideal for summer wear, and in cities like Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta, it is wearable round the year since winter does not set in these places. The sarees generally have a contrast border and a pallav with the same work as in the border. Madurai cotton is highly affordable and is used for evening or day wear or for visiting anyone or attending a light evening tea or coffee party in the forenoon.

Madurai: A Hub for Designer Sarees

Madurai is famous for its fine cotton thread produced here used for making cotton sarees and also producing other varieties of sarees. It produces some very beautiful designer sarees of fine glazed cotton with zari border. The city is home to some very big saree shops selling many varieties of sarees, some of which are not available in Delhi and Bombay shops and not even in Tamil Nadu.

Madurai Handloom Industry: A Cultural Heritage

The handloom industry in Madurai is quite old, and the shops are by themselves quite old. Madurai also produces block printed sarees on fine cotton cloth known as Sungudi, though they might not be as famous as the block prints of Rajasthan and Gujarat yet they are very wearable in summer season. They are usually printed on fine cotton cloth and have small motifs on the body of the saree with single or double colour.

Conclusion

Madurai's handloom industry has inherited a rich cultural heritage from the city, which is 3000 years old. The city is home to some of the finest cotton sarees in India, and its thread is used for making not only cotton sarees but also other varieties of sarees. The industry is a testament to the city's rich cultural heritage and its commitment to preserving traditional crafts and techniques.

[pachaiyappassilkaonline]

How to determine the quality of Kanjivaram silk sarees?

When it comes to purchasing a Kanjivaram silk saree, discerning buyers understand the importance of assessing the quality of the fabric. A Kanjivaram silk saree is not just a garment; it's a piece of art that embodies tradition, elegance, and luxury. Therefore, knowing how to determine the quality of Kanjivaram silk sarees is crucial for those who adore these exquisite garments.

Assessing Silk Quality: One of the primary indicators of quality in a Kanjivaram silk saree is the purity of the silk itself. Authentic Kanjivaram sarees are crafted from pure silk threads, meticulously woven by skilled artisans. When examining a saree, look for the richness and smoothness of the silk fabric. High-quality silk will have a lustrous sheen and a soft, luxurious feel to the touch.

Another aspect to consider is the intricacy of the weaving. Kanjivaram sarees are renowned for their elaborate zari work and intricate designs. Pay close attention to the intricacy of the motifs and borders, as well as the precision of the weaving. Quality craftsmanship is evident in the fine detailing and symmetry of the design.

Pachaiyappa's Silks: A Trusted Source for Authentic Kanjivaram Silk Sarees

For years, Pachaiyappa's Silks has been synonymous with excellence in traditional silk sarees. As one of the most trusted names in the industry, Pachaiyappa's Silks offers a wide range of high-quality Kanjivaram silk sarees, meticulously crafted by skilled artisans.

At Pachaiyappa's Silks, every saree is a masterpiece, reflecting the rich heritage and craftsmanship of South India. From bridal silk sarees to wedding sarees, each piece is crafted with precision and care, ensuring unparalleled quality and elegance.

We, at Pachaiyappa's Silks, understand the evolving needs of modern consumers and offer the convenience of purchasing sarees online. With just a few clicks at you can browse through our exquisite traditional silk saree collection and find the perfect Kanjivaram silk saree for any occasion.

So, when it comes to purchasing a Kanjivaram silk saree, quality should always be a top priority. By understanding how to assess silk quality and choosing a trusted source like Pachaiyappa's Silks, you can ensure that your saree is not only a beautiful garment but also a timeless investment in tradition and elegance.

[fishnets-fingers]

Forbidden Hours

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n

a/n - happy first day of 2023! this is my first time writing historical fiction. it’s loosely inspired by a movie, particularly this scene. it’s not historically accurate in the slightest. you can read more about the chola dynasty here. don’t know how many parts this would have but i’m hoping to write more of these two’s dynamic. if you have any ideas, let me know. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!

Word Count - 4.2k (not proofread)

MASTERPOST | PART TWO

….

நிழல். Shadow. That was his nickname among the royal heirs. He was quiet, swift, inconspicuous, and nimble - camouflaging himself in vast rooms and gathering intel. There wasn’t a room in the kingdom he couldn’t weasel himself in; whether that be up on the roof, scaling walls, or hidden in the dark - where candle lights don’t flicker.

Growing up as the son of a British sea merchant, Harry learned that there wasn’t much for a young boy to do in the cramped quarters of the ship. He’d lost his mother the moment he took his first breath. There wasn’t a lot of maternal warmth in his life but that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t loved. He was loved in a different way, his father kept him close during the wuthering nights at sea often pointing out constellations in the night sky to remind him that life had far more in store for him than the fervent passing waves of the sea. But he was also a man that did not believe in making mistakes, so whenever Harry got in trouble, he was asked to scrub the deck floor clean until his hands bled. He learnt his way around a sword from the crewmen. Travelling to different ports of the world also meant learning different forms of combat and gathering information from people of different cultures. Stewing in a ship with ten men for months meant no entertainment, so he began sifting for stories and used their weakness and strengths against them to gain favours.

He docked on Chozhamandalam when he was twenty and was greeted with a red swallowtail flag with a pouncing tiger on it. He grew to love the people of Kaveripattinam - the bustle of the markets, the chortle of the children running about, the welcoming people, and the way art was particularly celebrated in this small port town, and the princess he set his sights on his third day of being docked there. He’s heard of royalty. Lots of royalty. Cruel rulers. Compassionate rulers. Ostentatious rulers. Modest rulers. Heard. But he’s never seen one in the flesh. Until that day.

A crowd gathered near the temple, murmurs of visiting royals spread like wildfire, and when he’d caught wind of it, he couldn’t resist. Ten soldiers walked first clearing the path, two on horses and sheathed swords followed, then came ten men bearing the weight of a palanquin. It wasn’t an ordinary palanquin, this particular one was grandiose, shimmering in gold and stained glass but the insides were draped in silk to obstruct the view of the onlookers. The Queen Mother exited first, greeting the townspeople and that’s when Harry saw her - the Princess Regnant, the one third in line to the throne. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the way her lips curled up in an inviting smile. Harry has seen many a sight in his life but none would compare to the way the royal blue silk saree draped around her body made her skin shimmer; it reminded him of how the first light of the sun would glint and glimmer on the steady ocean water. Her eyes were dark, like the deepest part of the sea where light does not enter. She was adorned in gold, hair piled up into a tall bun that was decorated with jasmine flowers. Their temple visit was brief, the Princess joined her grandmother thanking people for their well wishes before being escorted into the temple premises. It was her eighteenth birthday, so a feast was prepared for everyone in town. As the crowd dissipated to head to the town hall for the royal lunch, Harry lingered wanting to catch sight of the Princess again. He managed to climb a peepal tree that towered over the south entrance of the temple. He saw her again, only this time being told off by the guard as she tried to reach over to pluck a blooming lotus from the temple pond. She huffed in response settling down on the step, so the water lapped at her feet, guiding a tadpole trapped in a water bubble on the lotus pad back into the water.

Three years later, he’d made himself a name in the kingdom. His path stumbled with the Crown Prince a month after arriving. He soon became his confidant, even earning a spot in his army. The Crown Prince, Vikram, was a skilled warrior often going off on conquests under the King’s orders to further expand the country. The youngest Prince, Karthi, was sent to the island of Lanka to study apothecary and healing. And the middle heir, Princess Y/N, was known for her wisdom and strategic wit. She often presided in important meetings with the King and his counsel and implemented many strategies that helped triple the wealth of the dynasty and the well-being of the people. The first battle Harry rode alongside the Crown Prince, he was tasked with bringing home a note sent by the prince to his father detailing his plans on the war spoils to the King. Harry was entrusted with carrying secrets and messages to royalty and trusted members of the Crown. His knack of gathering information also came in handy and now was a spy for the royal heirs three years later.

Soon enough the nickname Shadow was bestowed upon him by Prince Karthi. There wasn’t a single room he couldn’t get into - even the castle. But the tower he was currently scaling was one he never had before - Princess Y/N’s chamber. It was forbidden to talk to her without supervision but in the dark of the night, he supposed it did not matter. His job description came with breaking rules and this particular information needed for her to be in the know sans protocols.

He hitched his leg up over the stone bannister and lurched his torso up to the terrace. Princess Y/N’s tower was away from the main dome of the royal vacation castle and he chalked it up for safety but now standing at her balcony, he understands why. The view was unbelievable - the vast expanse of the ocean was at his feet, calm waters painted silver with the full moon; it also overlooked her personal garden filled with coral jasmine, hibiscus, marigolds, and wildflowers. The ocean breeze carried over the fragrance of the flora straight to her room. It was well known that the princess was an avid gardener; he heard through the grapevine that oftentimes she’d sketch out the garden’s landscape plans and sometimes even join the workers to tend to the flower beds. Princes who came to court her from neighbouring territories would almost always bring a sapling of a flowering plant to gain affection.

One could get used to the view, he thinks, as he leans against the bannister one more time - the sounds of tides crashing over the shore soothe his nerves from his climb up. Being born with the golden spoon ain’t that bad. If the burden of duty came with such lavish living quarters, someone sign me the fuck up, Harry takes in the scenery before him before pushing off from it. His body instinctively makes his way to her, like a moth being drawn to a frame, or in this case a spy being drawn to the lavish canopy bed bathed in the buttery glow of candlelight. He stops in his tracks for the second time by the sight of her, not by the opulent beauty that she radiated when he first laid eyes on her but with fondness.

It’s not the Princess Regnant who’s fast asleep on her bed but Y/N. The same Y/N who bristles every time he’s in the room with her siblings. The same Y/N who straightens up her back and holds her chin up high when he cracks a joke to try and force a smile on her face.The same Y/N who looks away when he catches her eyeing him up as he hands over the sealed scroll sent by one of her brothers. It’s almost as if Harry is seeing her for the first time without any filters - except for the sheer white netted fabric that hangs around. She looks small without all the jewellery and silks. Hair raven and straight and long - longer than what he had anticipated - now that her hair has not been pinned up in a bun or bushed away from her face with intricate braids. She looks vulnerable - almost her age - a twenty one year old with a bare face that is not made up immaculately. She has dark circles under her eyes, and Harry deduces that it’s from reading all the books she has strewn over - opened - beside her on the satin sheets. Her lips are curled downwards; she frowns in her sleep and Harry has to try and fight the urge to reach over and smooth out the crinkle between her eyebrows.

He clears his throat, hoping she’ll wake up before he ends up touching her and landing himself in prison. She twitches in response, her steady deep breaths interrupted by a sharp inhale. He clears his throat again, louder this time, followed by, “Your royal highness.”

Y/N’s eyes flutter open, and she jolts up when she sees a tall figure standing beside her. “Who?” She asks, voice hoarse, eyes darting up over his broad chest.

“It’s me, Princess Y/N,” Harry answers.

“Mr. Styles.” Hand coming over to rub the sleep from her eye. “What are you doing here? In my chamber? You’re not allowed,” she states.

“I apologise, your majesty. I’ve been riding for five hours, ma’am. From the estate in the hills. Couldn’t risk having someone overhearing this for the sake of protocol,” he explains.

“So, was I right?” Y/N questions, shuffling out of her bed. Harry moves behind so she has the space to stand upright. “Are the governors convening?”

She gets no reply, making her flit her eyes up at his jade embers to find him staring at her body. Harry could make out the full curves of her breasts and hips with the flimsy white gown Y/N was wearing. Her nipples pebbled from the cold winds from the sea and peaks out the cotton fabric. She rolls her eyes, and snaps her fingers in front of his face to catch his attention. “I could have your eyes gouged out this instant, Harry Edward Styles! There are guards on the other side of this door.”

“Apologies, Princ-“

“You’re full of apologies tonight, aren’t you?” Y/N folds her arms, shielding her chest from his gaze.

“Sorry, Prin-“

Y/N laughs. “It’s far too late for formalities, Mr. Styles. Plus, they only apply to people who follow protocols and walk in through there,” she cocks her head to the carved wooden door. Considering you broke into my room by climbing my balcony, I reckon you can give it a rest. Call me Y/N.”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Y/N,” he adds. Testing out the way her name rolls out of his mouth. He can’t help the way his dimples carve in his cheeks as the corner of his lips tug upward. I like it, he decides. He likes the way saying her name feels on his tongue, it’s rich and velvety and he wants to keep saying it again and again. “Please call me Harry.”

“Harry, tell me what you saw. Don’t leave out any details,” she orders, walking over to her desk.

Fucking shit, Harry shakes his head. How was he supposed to concentrate when the candles she was lighting only made the silhouette of her body more prominent. She could clearly see the swell of her bum and he’ll bet his entire fortune that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath other than that flimsy gown. He shamelessly lets his eyes rake up over her and his heart flutters when he meets her expenatant eyes, quill hovering over a parchment, urging him to vomit out what he knows.

“Yes. The Hill estate,” he clears his throat. “You’re right. Five governors held a secret meeting at midnight at the Bull temple. You know, the one that was destroyed last monsoon by a landslide.”

Y/N scoffs and lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Of course, they pick the most obvious spot. Were you able to get a good look at who these governors are?”

“Yes. Do you want me to list them out?”

“Please,” she says, writing down each of the names that Harry listed. He walks closer to where she was hunched over, writing. Harry’s not surprised to see the elegance in her script.

“Impressive. Nice handwriting,” he comments.

“Hardly something to be impressed by, Harry.”

“Well, Y/N, it’s better than mine.”

“If you had tutors from all over the world, I’m sure your script will look just as impressive,” she adds.

“Of course.” He nods. “The meeting. The governors are unhappy with the decree to build schools using the tax money they’re collecting.”

“Of course they are,” she mumbles. “They’re all for taxes when they can use it to fatten themselves up but ask them to spend it on the children of their districts, they are suddenly unhappy with the new system implemented.”

“That’s not all.” Harry opens a silver box and pops a date into his mouth.

“Help yourself,” Y/N comments, shaking her head at his lack of etiquette. Harry’s face flushes with pink and he can feel the tips of his ears getting hot.

“It’s a long journey back here,” he tells her, avoiding her eyes in embarrassment and on cue his stomach rumbles.

Y/N eyes soften. “There are fruits in the basket. And here.” She walks over pulling out a glass jar filled with jujubes from the drawer by her bedside and brings it over to him.

“You have gummies in your drawer,” he notes, smirking at the half eaten jar of sugar coated coloured candy.

“I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” she tells him with a shy smile. He props himself on the table and she makes her way to her desk, watching him eat.

“Harry,” she calls out. “You said that’s not all,” she prompts.

“Your Uncle was there,” he tells her quietly, not wanting anyone to hear.

“My Uncle?” She asks, alarmed. “Can’t be.”

“I saw him, Y/N. He came in shrouded in a black cloak. He’s sired an offspring he said. Claimed that his son had a right to the throne. That’s as much as what was said before they dispersed.”

“You’re positive?”

“Are you implying that I’m being dishonest?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Y/N snaps. “I just want you to be sure.”

“I saw him with my own two eyes, Y/N. I was taken aback too. Both Princes speak of him fondly.”

“Seems like there’s a conspiracy afoot,” Y/N says, almost to herself.

“I’ll let Prince Vikaram know immediately,” he informs.

“Don’t. He’s hot headed. God knows he’ll come charging to the capital and stick a knife in my Uncle’s throat. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s below your pay grade, spy. I’ll handle this myself. I’m heading to the capital tomorrow for a meeting with my father and the court. How long would it take for you to sail to Lanka alone?”

“Almost a week,” Harry answers.

“Okay. I want you to set sail to Lanka five days from now. I’ll have a scroll delivered to you at noon by the docks. Hand it over to Karthi. Father will want him back in the capital. Keep mum about this and you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”

Harry nods. “Don’t want gold coins this time. I want a house. Close to the sea. One with space for a yard.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll set sail five days from now to Lanka. It’ll also be nice to pay the old man a visit too.”

“Your father’s there?”

Harry nods.

“How is Merchant Styles? I heard he’s retired” Y/N asks.

“He took to Buddhist teachings. Become a proper monk now,” Harry chuckles.

Y/N laughs, one that’s laced with mockery.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, standing up abandoning the food.

“Nothing,” she gets out between peels of laughter, wiping her the tears that threaten to spill.

“With all due respect, Princess. Spit it the fuck out,” he huffs out in annoyance.

“It’s just funny. Your father practises a faith that preaches restraint of the senses as one of its precepts and then there’s you.” She bites down on her bottom lip to stop herself from breaking out into a fit of laughter.

“I don’t quite follow,” he crosses her arms.

“Of course you don’t,” she chuckles, straightening up and tilting her chin up.

“You always do that,” he points out. “Pretend you're better than me. It’s obvious you hate me when I’ve been nothing but friendly.”

“You’re not my friend. You’re Vikram’s friend. And Karthi’s. I don’t know you. And I know for a fact that I’m better than you,” YN's eyebrow raises in arrogance.

“What makes you so sure?” Harry takes a step towards her.

“Because, Harry Styles, you’re the proverbial whore of the town. I don’t go around screwing everything with a pulse,” she smiles arrogantly at him.

“How did you come upon this piece of information?” He asks her.

“News travels fast, especially with handmaidens. So, that’s why it’s funny. Your father practises self-restraint and you are on a mission to contract a venereal disease.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

“It is. That’s what the textbook says: It's a womanly duty to service the man and bear his children. It’s sacred,” she insists, taking a step back.

“I’m surprised for someone with such progressive morals… Your view on pleasure seems archaic,” he takes a step toward her again.

“Books do not lie, spy. They have the whole truth.” She steps back again, bumping into the edge of her teakwood desk, trapping herself.

“What do your precious books say about the way your body sparkles when you reach a satisfying end?” He goads, taking a final step forward and invading her personal space.

“You are forbidden to come this close to me, Harry.” Y/N reminds him in futility. Feeling his hard chest against her, thighs rubbing up against him, she can feel his hard muscles straining against her and his warmth radiate, crawling its way into her skin.

“Call out to the guards then,” he reminds her, dropping his head down to nose at her temple.

“I will,” her voice is feeble. “You’ll be cut into pieces and thrown in the ocean.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he smirks, as his lips circuit down the shell of her ear. “I don’t see you telling me to stop.” His tongue laves at her lobe, teeth coming to clamp down gently and tug.

Y/N squeaks feeling his action go down straight to her core. “I know how to defend myself.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second.” He stops, pulling back to look at her. “You don’t need to fight me,” his voice rings with sincerity. “Just tell me to stop and I will, Y/N.” He looks at her, searching her face for an answer.

“What else?” She murmurs, after a few moments, looking up into his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“What else? Things that haven’t been mentioned in books,” she clarifies.

His eyes shine with mischief as he simpers, dimples dazzling. “Where do I start, Y/N…” he trails off, fully pressing himself against her chest. God, she’s so responsive, he marvels at the way her chest heaves against his, heart stammering a staccato against his own racing heart. She’s soft and warm and she smells heavenly. His lips find its way to the base of her jaw, dragging up and leaving open mouth kisses on her smooth skin. “When you find someone desirable, you feel the heat pool in your belly and spread like wildfire across every nerve ending of your body.” He kisses her cheek, a hand going to intertwine with hers.

“Have you felt that?” He asks, feeling hot puffs of her breath against his neck. Y/N shakes her head. “It’s not very noble to lie, Princess,” he whispers, lips moving against the column of her throat. “I see the way you fuck me with your eyes.”

“I do not-“ her voice cuts off as Harry suckles on her jugular, feeling her hammering pulse underneath his lips. She lets out a whimper that goes straight to his fattening cock. Y/N’s mouth falls open dragging in breaths of fresh air, her free hand bracing against the desk to hold herself upright. “I do not fuck you with my eyes.”

“Really?” He says popping off, his calloused fingers come to caress the agitated spot. He was careful not to leave a hickey but he loved the way her skin turned a baby pink in response to his ministrations. “I guess I must have imagined all those times you looked me up and down?”

“I guess you did, Harry,” her chest heaves as she tries to maintain composure. It wasn’t right to be doing this with Harry. It wasn’t right to be doing this with anyone outside the sanctity of a marital bed but it’s exhilarating, breaking rules. She’s not sure if it’s Harry or it’s just the thrill of doing something that might get her in trouble with her parents. They trust her. Trusted her enough to let her move out of the capital and to the port town with her grandmother because she wishes to live by the beach. And here she was enjoying herself with a plebian. A foreigner. A spy. She met him when she was eighteen as her brother’s friend and he was handsome. Chocolate brown curls, smatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose, a perfect smile, dimples, and an alluring set of mossy green irises. She’s heard stories and rumours of his sexual escapades and as much as she detested hearing those stories, she detested the fact that she’s been comparing the princes who had come to ask for her hand in marriage to him. But all she could think of was how strong his arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

“Stubborn,” he smirks up. “See what you do to me?” He presses his hard cock against her pelvic bone, watching the way her eyes darken as she realises, the sight smirk of hers doesn't go unnoticed by him. “You’ve been driving me insane since the day I saw you on your eighteenth birthday. Went back to my quarters and touched myself to the thought of you,” he confesses. “You’ve been in my dreams ever since.” He cups her cheek, thumb moving back and forth across her lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Harry?” She asks, looking up at him.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” He questions.

She shakes her head. “My handmaidens have kissed the people who were courting them. They told me how to do it and helped me practise on fruit.”

“That so?” He smiles, lips ghosting her Cupid’s bow. “You know kissing is pretty easy, Y/N,” he declares. “But it’s also powerful” he tells her, lips moving against hers. “‘A kiss may ruin a human life.’”

“Oscar Wilde,” she says, recognising his quote, surprised by his knowledge of poetry. She gets on her toes, pulling her intertwined hand out of Harry’s, and running it down his chest, she can feel the way his muscles ripple underneath the fabric of his shirt. Her chest heaves, belly clenching in anticipation as he lowers tilts his head to the side, noses squished and her mouth opens in anticipation.

He presses his forehead against hers savouring the moment. “And I’m sure that if I start kissing you now, Princess… I might never be able to stop,” he tells her, breathing in her intoxicating sweet floral scent. He concedes by kissing her eyelids and he’s fighting the urge to not run his hands down her body and up her thighs to see if she’s wet for him, but he steps away wanting to be respectful.

Y/N can’t hide the disappointment in her face when backs away from her. His hands come to cup her cheeks, smearing a tender kiss on her forehead. “Never met anyone who has me on a chokehold, Y/N,” he confesses. “I shall bid my goodbye.” He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her palm, pressing it to his cheek.

“See you Harry,” she smiles. “You’ll be given the scroll at the docks at noon five days from now,” she informs, standing upright; snapping back into the person she was before being pushed up against the desk by Harry.

“Princess Y/N,” he bows, popping a piece of jujube in his mouth before making his way to her balcony. He gives her a salute one last time before climbing down the tower during forbidden hours, like he always does. But this time, he’s rappelling down the side of the stone structure with butterflies in his tummy.

part two

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

[ltash]

Ashes to flames

Part 1

British India:

1940s.

The flames flickered and crackled ominously as they prepared the pyre. You stood there, clad in a brilliant red silk saree that shimmered under the fading light. The red dot between your eyebrows, the sindoor parted across your scalp, and the heavy gold jewellery that adorned your fragile frame all marked you as a widow, a bride bound to her husband, even in death Your pearly white skin, striking against the deep red of your garments, seemed too pure, too innocent for the fate that awaited you.

Your long, dark black hair, wavy and unbound, cascaded down your back like the night sky, and the henna tattoos that covered your slender arms and feet were still vibrant from your wedding day. Each intricate pattern felt like a mocking reminder of what should have been, but never was.

The weight of the moment pressed upon you, and memories rushed through your mind like a torrent you couldn’t stop.

You had been born into a wealthy Rajput family, one of privilege and tradition. Your parents, progressive for their time, had sent you to school with British girls. You could still hear your father's proud voice.

"You're not just a daughter," he’d said, his eyes gleaming with pride, "you're my pride. You will make your own path in this world."

But the dream of forging your own path had shattered the day he passed away. The vibrant, strong man who had nurtured your hopes and dreams was gone, and with him, your world collapsed. You remember standing there, watching as your mother stepped into the pyre beside him, her face serene with acceptance, fulfilling her role in the cruel practice of sati.

You had begged her not to go, gripping her hand tightly, but she had only smiled. "This is my duty, my child," she had whispered. "It is what we must do."

And now it was your turn.

At 23, you had been forced into a marriage with an 80-year-old man, a frail and terminal figure you barely knew. Your uncle had orchestrated it all, ignoring your protests and pleas. Your life, once filled with promise, had been reduced to caring for a dying man, a man who never loved you, never saw you as more than a young wife to be bound to his deathbed.

As you stood upon the pyre, your heart pounded in your chest, cold terror coursing through your veins. The deceased body of your husband lay beside you, his wrinkled face unmoving, eyes closed in eternal sleep. It felt like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

Your uncle’s voice boomed from behind you, cold and resolute. "It is time. Your duty is clear. You belong to him, in life and in death."

Tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You were an abomination, they said, cursed to burn beside your husband. There was no escape now. You looked at the faces in the crowd, their expressions a mixture of reverence and indifference.

"I don’t want to die," you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible above the crackling wood and the ceremonial chants. Your body felt too fragile for the weight of what was expected of you.

For a moment, the world around you blurred, and you were back in the classroom, sitting at a desk with your British classmates, laughing and learning. You remembered the joy of those days, the dreams you had once nurtured, and the freedom you had tasted.

But it was all gone now.

The fire beneath the pyre roared to life, the heat licking at your feet, pulling you back into the present. Your breath hitched, your hands trembling as they were bound for the final rites. The crowd began to chant, their voices blending with the wind, carrying you closer to your fate.

You stood in shock, your mind screaming for escape, but there was none. The flames rose higher, and the scent of burning wood filled the air.

In that final moment, as the fire closed in, you closed your eyes and let the memories of your father, your mother, and the life you had once dreamed of wash over you. You had been a flower, once full of life, now destined to wither in the flames.

The flames raged around you, a roaring inferno that licked at the edge of your red silk saree, threatening to consume you whole. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning wood, filling your lungs with every breath. Your screams had become raw, a desperate plea that seemed to vanish into the night, absorbed by the rising chants of the crowd. Their faces, once familiar, now appeared distant and monstrous in the glow of the fire. Every inch of you trembled, trapped in the suffocating weight of tradition, knowing there was no escape.

Suddenly, through the deafening roar of the flames, another sound broke through, the thunder of hooves pounding the earth, fierce and unyielding. The chanting faltered, and for a moment, all eyes turned toward the source of the sound. Out of the swirling smoke, a figure emerged on horseback, riding at full gallop. The villagers stumbled back, their voices fading as the rider approached.

"Enough!" A voice rang out like a clap of thunder, so powerful it seemed to silence the world. It cut through the noise through the chaos, commanding attention.

Through the haze, you saw him, Lieutenant Admiral Simon Riley. His tall, imposing figure sat astride a powerful black horse, the silver insignias on his pristine uniform gleaming under the darkening sky. His face was set in a mask of anger, jaw clenched, eyes burning with purpose. His gaze met yours across the pyre, and in that moment, time stopped. The weight of the flames, the pressing heat, the terror, all of it disappeared as his eyes locked onto yours. They were sharp, focused, and filled with a fierce determination that left you breathless.

In one swift motion, Simon dismounted, drawing his sword in a fluid arc. The blade gleamed like polished silver, a beacon of power in the dim light. Without hesitation, he strode through the crowd, parting them with the sheer force of his presence. The people, once so confident in their cruelty, shrank back in fear.

His gloved hand reached for you. Strong, steady, unwavering, he grasped you by the waist as though you weighed nothing. With effortless strength, he lifted you from the pyre, cradling your fragile frame against his chest. The heat of the flames still crackled beneath your feet, but in his arms, the terror that had gripped you began to fade. You clung to him, your heart pounding, your body trembling from shock.

“I am taking her with me,” Simon declared, his voice low but lethal, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. His sword remained raised high, its deadly point gleaming, daring anyone to approach.

Your uncle, face flushed with rage, stepped forward. “You can not do this!” he shouted, his voice trembling with fury. “She is an abomination! The consequences, " He faltered, his eyes flickering with a mix of fear and arrogance. “The consequences won’t be good. Saahib, I warn you.”

Simon’s icy blue eyes narrowed as he turned to face your uncle. “You dare threaten me?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm. His grip on you tightened, his body a wall of strength and defiance. “You call her an abomination, yet you are the one trying to murder an innocent woman in the name of your backwards traditions.”

One of the villagers, emboldened by your uncle’s words, stepped forward. “She has a duty to fulfil! She must burn with her husband. It is our way!”

Simon’s jaw clenched as he glared at the crowd. “Over my dead body!” he thundered, his voice booming across the gathering. “You barbarians think you can hide behind your so-called customs? Killing an innocent woman under the guise of tradition? I will not allow it.”

His eyes swept over the villagers, daring them to defy him. No one moved. Even your uncle, who had always wielded power over your life, seemed small and insignificant in the face of Simon’s wrath.

The soldiers who had followed Simon arrived on horseback, dismounting swiftly and surrounding their commander, their faces set in grim determination. They moved into formation, shields, and rifles at the ready, forming an impenetrable barrier between Simon and the villagers. The crowd’s courage crumbled as Simon’s men stood at attention, their loyalty to him unshakeable.

Simon sheathed his sword with a sharp clink and swiftly mounted his horse, never once loosening his protective grip on you. With one fluid motion, he pulled you up onto the saddle in front of him, his arms encircling your body as he guided the reins. You pressed against his chest, your heart racing, your body trembling, still reeling from the terror of what had almost been your fate.

“Hold on,” Simon whispered, his breath warm against your ear, his voice gentle now, a stark contrast to the fury he had shown moments before.

As he urged the horse forward, the powerful animal surged ahead, hooves pounding the earth as the village disappeared behind you. The wind whipped through your unbound hair, and the world blurred around you as Simon rode with speed and precision, cutting through the night. His chest was firm against your back, a solid presence that anchored you as the remnants of the horror faded into the distance.

You glanced up at him, still too shocked to speak. His face was set in determination, but there was a tenderness in the way he held you, as if he had just saved something precious. His residence came into view on the horizon, a beacon of safety amidst the storm of chaos you had left behind.

As the horse galloped toward his estate, you knew that the life you had been condemned to, the pyre that had almost claimed you, was far behind. In Simon’s arms, you had been saved, not just from death, but from a life you had never chosen.

By the time you reached his mansion, your body had given up. The exhaustion, the terror, the sheer weight of what you had just survived had drained you of every ounce of strength. You could no longer hold on, and with a faint sigh, you collapsed in his arms, your head lolling against his chest as unconsciousness claimed you. Simon’s strong arms caught you, his grip unwavering as he dismounted his horse with practised ease, cradling your limp form close to him.

The grand doors of his mansion swung open as Simon carried you inside, his boots echoing sharply against the marble floors. His face was a mask of calm control, though the tension in his jaw betrayed the turmoil raging beneath the surface. The servants, startled by the sight of their master carrying an unconscious woman, rushed forward, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"Sati! But she is alive!" one of the servants gasped, his eyes flicking nervously between you and Simon. The whispers spread like wildfire, murmurs of shock and confusion filling the air.

Simon’s eyes, cold and resolute, silenced the room. “She will stay alive,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. There was a finality in his tone, a command that left no room for doubt.

“But, Saahib… you shouldn’t have brought her here,” another servant, an older man with worry etched into every line of his face, stepped forward cautiously. He glanced nervously towards the door, his voice lowering as he continued, “They will come for her. The village… they won’t let this go.”

Simon’s eyes darkened, a flash of anger crossing his face as he looked down at you, your fragile form still limp in his arms. “She will stay here from now on,” he declared, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His gaze returned to the old servant, daring him to say otherwise.

The servant hesitated, wringing his hands together anxiously. “But, sir… she has committed...”

“She has committed nothing,” Simon interrupted sharply, cutting him off with a glare that froze the words in his throat. “What they tried to do to her, that was a crime.”

Without waiting for another word, Simon turned and carried you through the wide, opulent halls of his mansion, the luxurious surroundings a stark contrast to the horrors you had just escaped. He moved with purpose, his grip on you gentle yet protective as if he were carrying something precious and fragile. As he reached his private chambers, he nudged the door open with his boot, striding inside.

He walked toward his grand bed, the soft linens and dark wood frame a world away from the pyre you had almost perished upon. Lowering you carefully onto the bed, Simon’s touch was tender, as if he feared you might break. He adjusted the pillows beneath your head, smoothing your hair from your face as he stood over you, his gaze softening for the briefest moment.

“She has nowhere to go,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, his eyes never leaving your unconscious form. His fingers brushed against your cheek, the warmth of his touch a faint comfort against your feverish skin.

The silence hung heavy in the room as Simon stood beside you, the weight of his decision clear in the set of his shoulders. He had saved you from the flames, but he knew the storm was far from over. They would come for you. But as long as you remained under his roof, under his protection, they would have to get through him first.

And Simon Riley had no intention of letting you go.

The soft clink of your heavy gold bangles stirred the quiet room, breaking the early morning silence. You blinked your eyes open, the weight of the ornate jewellery and the lingering scent of smoke bringing back the harsh memories of the night before. Your body felt heavy and exhausted, but you were alive. The bed beneath you was soft, a far cry from the pyre you had stood on, and the air was cool and still.

Simon, who had been standing near the window, turned at the sound of your stirring. His eyes, sharp and alert, softened when they met yours. "You’re awake," he said, his voice low but gentle.

You slowly sat up, feeling the weight of your golden jewellery shift as you moved. The red silk saree you still wore clung to you, a reminder of the ritual that had nearly claimed your life. Simon watched you closely, his expression unreadable for a moment, but there was something in his gaze, something like awe. You looked like an Indian goddess sitting there, the rich red fabric and gleaming gold of your attire contrasting with the delicate vulnerability of your face. Even in your weakened state, you were breathtaking.

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are safe now,” he said softly, his tone reassuring, firm. “Nobody will touch you. I will make sure of that.”

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten with gratitude and fear all at once. He was offering you something precious: safety. A luxury you hadn’t known since you were forced into this nightmare.

“The servant will prepare breakfast for you,” Simon continued, his voice softening as he spoke. “Whatever you wish to eat, just tell him.” He offered a faint smile, one that barely reached his eyes before turning to leave, giving you space to gather yourself.

But something inside you panicked as you watched him turn away. Your hand reached out instinctively, fingers curling around his wrist. “They will come back for me,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the fear returning in waves. The memory of the village and the pyre still haunted you, lurking just beneath the surface.

Simon paused, his back still to you, his muscles tensing beneath your grip. For a moment, he said nothing, his silence weighing heavy in the air between you. Then, he turned his head slightly, his voice calm but resolute. “We’ll see,” he replied, his tone carrying a quiet confidence that made you want to believe him.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Simon’s servant stepped into the room, bowing slightly. “Saahib,” he said, a nervous tremor in his voice, “the village minister has come to see you.”

Your grip on Simon’s wrist tightened, fear surging through you once more. “They’re here to take me,” you muttered, dread filling your voice.

Simon looked down at you, his expression softening as he gently removed your hand from his wrist. “Relax,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “I will take care of them.”

He turned and strode out of the room, his footsteps purposeful, leaving you alone with the crushing weight of your fear. You sat there, frozen, barely breathing as you listened to his retreating footsteps echo down the hall. The walls of his grand mansion felt suffocating now, closing in around you as the threat loomed just beyond the doors.

Simon entered the living room, his posture straight, his face unreadable as he approached the man waiting for him. The village minister stood at the threshold, his weathered face lined with anxiety. As Simon drew nearer, the minister removed his turban and knelt before him, bowing his head low in submission. The gesture, one of both respect and desperation, seemed to fill the room with an oppressive air.

“Saahib,” the minister began, his voice thick with pleading, “please… I put my honour before you. Give her back to us.” He kept his head bowed, his hands trembling as he placed his turban at Simon’s feet, a symbol of his surrender.

Simon’s eyes flashed with anger, his jaw tightening at the man’s words. He took a step forward, his presence towering over the kneeling minister. “Give her back to you?” Simon’s voice was low, but there was an edge to it, sharp as a blade. “So you can burn her alive again?”

The minister flinched at Simon’s words but kept his head bowed, the weight of his shame clear. “It is our way, Saahib. The village demands it… her duty...”

“Her duty?” Simon’s voice rose, cutting the minister off sharply. He took another step forward, looming over the man. “Her duty is to survive, not to be thrown into the flames like an offering to your backwards traditions.”

The minister dared to look up, his eyes wide with desperation. “Please, Saahib, you do not understand… This is how it has been for generations. The village...”

“Don't try to lecture an officer of the East India Company. I don’t care about your village,” Simon snapped, his anger barely contained. “I will not let you murder her. Not under my watch.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, and he leaned in slightly, his eyes blazing. “If you think you can come here and take her, you’ll have to go through me first.”

The minister’s face paled, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words, but there was no room for argument. Simon’s authority, his sheer presence, left no space for negotiation.

“Go back to your village,” Simon said coldly, stepping back. “Tell them she is under my protection now. If anyone dares try to harm her, they will face the full force of the British army.”

The minister, trembling, scrambled to gather his turban and stumbled to his feet. He nodded hastily, backing away toward the door. “Yes, Saahib. I will… I will tell them,” he stammered before turning and fleeing from the mansion, leaving Simon standing alone in the heavy silence of the room.

Simon exhaled slowly, his fists unclenching as the tension ebbed from his body. He had made his stance clear, but he knew the battle was far from over. They would return, perhaps with more men, more pressure. But for now, you were safe.

And that, Simon vowed, was all that mattered.

[harshildesignstudio]

Introducing our exquisite 'Jute Silk Green Color Sequin Embroidery Saree,' a creation designed by Vilas Satasiya at Harshil Design Studio.

Product Highlights:

Color: Green

Material: Soft & Cool Jute Silk with Sequin Embroidery

Material Source: Delhi

Speciality: Blend of Jute & Crepe with Sequin Embroidery, Gaji Silk Jacket Blouse with Deep V Neckline and Handcrafted Beads Belt on Waist

Weight: Light Weight

Occasion Perfect:

Crafted for occasional wear, this saree features a perfect blend of elegance and modernity, making it ideal for special events.

Design Features:

Wash Care: Dry Clean Only

Quick Turnaround: Crafted with precision in just 10 days

Sustainable Style: Crafted from eco-friendly and sustainable materials

Trendsetting Inspiration:

Influenced by Bollywood fashion, this saree boasts a unique blend of jute and crepe, adorned with intricate sequin embroidery.

Material Sourcing:

The lead time for sourcing these materials is 15 days, ensuring meticulous attention to detail.

Elevate your style with our Jute Silk Green Color Sequin Embroidery Saree!

Contact Us for more details

https://harshildesignstudio.com/

[guldavari]

Sharara Suit For Women Wedding

Sharara is another bottom style that is loved by every woman who loves to wear traditional clothing. It is also an essential wardrobe staple for every woman who loves dressings up for special occasions where one can flaunt their pretty traditional attires. But there are so many sharara styles to choose from and here are some of those sharara.

Sharara suits are highly popular among everyone and are the best to style for all functions. From haldi to reception you can rely on a Sharara suit. Some of my best ways to style a Sharara suit are:

1. A Saree-Like Look - Ditch your suit and wear a blouse with sharara

2. Heavy jewelry- You can style your sharara suit and pair it with jewelry for that extra look ( This looks best for a wedding)

3. Pop Makeup & colors - If you have a neutral/light color sharara suit you can try a colorful makeup

4. Cardigans /Jackets- A lot of people have started using Indian cardigans over sharara suits for that extra look

Gathered style– Light fabrics like chiffon and georgette are best to use for this style. If you want a sharara in these fabrics then it's best to go for a gathered style to give this silhouette a much-desired flare at the bottom.

Pleated style– If you have a medium-weight fabric then go for fine knife pleats to give the sharara a voluminous look. Fabric-like fine silk is perfect for this look.

Tiered style– If the simple style doesn’t fascinate you then do try the multi-layered or the tiered sharara style where the sharara is done in layers and is gathered at every layer.

Two-layered sharara– The bottom part of the sharara can also be done in two parts and its best to use eye-catchy embroidery here to make the silhouette look more beautiful.

Multi layered– One can add more layers to this silhouette like in the picture. Needless to say that this style looks beautiful while you walk, and in general too the layers add a modern touch to this traditional bottom style.

Salmon Pink Sharara Suit By Abhinav Mishra!

One designer that we blindly trust with our sharara suits would be Abhinav Mishra. This popular sharara suit made of raw silk has won us over. Hand embroidered with zari, sequins and mirror work is simply so GORGEOUS!

Banana Yellow Sharara With Floral Print

The banana-yellow Kurti in silk with floral print is decorated with thread and sequins embroidery in heritage motifs. The suit is further embellished with zardozi, Kundan and buttons on the placket. This comes with a pleated silk bottom and a net dupatta enhanced with pearls and zari lace.

Latest Sharara Suit in Red and Pink Hues!

Painted in red and pink hues this Sharara suit comes with a lehariya printed Kurti in crepe with Gotta Patti embroidery, French knots and sequins embroidered mesh on the neckline and buttis.

[houseofhind]

A world of captivating charm with our Morpankhi Color Banarasi Shalu, a shade that embodies the lush beauty of nature.

Your attire with the royal essence of tradition that the Morpankhi Color Banarasi Shalu exudes.

The intricate Banarasi craftsmanship and the Morpankhi hue intertwine to create drapes that redefine grace and sophistication.

From celebratory occasions to cultural events, the Morpankhi Color Banarasi Shalu seamlessly adapts to any setting.

Admire the delicate details woven into this masterpiece, each thread narrating a story of culture,art and heritage.

Light Weight and Comfort like never before as you envelop yourself in the luxurious Morpankhi Color Banarasi Shalu.

Pair the Morpankhi Color Banarasi Shalu saree with contrasting accessories to create a stunning ensemble that embodies your unique style.

Walk with confidence, wearing the Morpankhi Color Banarasi Shalu that echoes your individuality with every step.

Embrace the legacy of Banarasi artistry and the allure of Morpankhi hue as you drape yourself in the epitome of elegance.

[shivanesboutique-blog]

Why Choose Handloom Sarees Over Regular Sarees?

Sarees have long been celebrated as the token of grace and tradition in Indian culture. Beyond their beauty, they symbolize heritage, artistry, and feminine elegance. Pure Handloom Silk sarees are unique, they offer more than just fabric—they offer a story, an art, and an ethos.

Machine-made sarees are popular for their convenience and affordability. However, handloom sarees hold a timeless charm. This blog explores why choosing handloom sarees connects deeply with tradition and sustainability.

What Are Handloom Sarees?

Handloom sarees are made using traditional weaving techniques. Every thread is carefully placed by skilled artisans, often passed down through generations. Unlike machine-made sarees, they showcase the weaver's expertise, patience, and artistry. These sarees reflect the regional culture, featuring intricate patterns and unique textures.

A pure handloom silk saree, like a Banarasi or Kanjeevaram, takes time to create. It can take weeks or even months to complete. Each piece reflects the weaver's labor of love and dedication. In this craftsmanship. No two sarees are alike, adding to their exclusivity.

Key Differences Between Handloom and Regular Sarees

While both types have their appeal, the differences are evident:

Production: Handloom sarees are woven on traditional wooden looms. They rely on the weaver’s skill, whereas regular sarees are mass-produced by machines.

Aesthetic Appeal: Handloom sarees have designs and textures that reflect regional art forms. Machine-made sarees often feature repetitive patterns.

Durability: Handloom fabrics are usually of higher quality. When cared for properly they last longer, unlike regular sarees that may wear out faster.

The Benefits of Choosing Handloom Sarees

Eco-Friendly and Sustainable Choice

In today’s era of fast fashion, handloom sarees stand as a beacon of sustainability. Their production involves minimal energy usage, reducing the carbon footprint significantly. Choosing handloom sarees is equal to supporting an eco-conscious lifestyle. It promotes the use of natural, biodegradable materials.

Superior Craftsmanship and Quality

The intricate weaving process ensures exceptional quality. Each handloom saree is a testament to the artisan’s dedication, making it a wearable work of art. Whether it’s the luster of silk or the earthy texture of cotton, handloom sarees radiate sophistication.

Cultural and Emotional Connection

Handloom sarees are more than just garments, they are pieces of heritage. It allows you to carry forward the legacy of countless weavers who pour their heart and soul into the craft.

Supporting Artisans and Local Economies

Handloom sarees sustain the livelihoods of thousands of artisans across India. Choosing them means supporting these communities and preserving their centuries-old craft. It’s an investment in tradition and talent.

Why a Pure Handloom Silk Saree Stands Out

There’s something inherently luxurious about a pure handloom silk saree. Made from the finest silk, these sarees symbolize elegance and grandeur. Banarasi, Kanjeevaram, Tussar, and Chanderi are a few varieties that showcase the diversity of India's handloom legacy. Whether its worn at a wedding or formal gathering, they enhance your presence and make you stand out.

These sarees, passed down through generations, carry stories with them. The gleam of handwoven silk, especially when it catches the light, adds to the appeal of the wearer. Their evergreen appeal has made them a must-have for every woman’s wardrobe.

Styling and Versatility of Handloom Sarees

Handloom sarees offer versatility like no other. Whether it's for a classic drape or a contemporary twist, they adapt beautifully to your style.

Festive Glamour: Pair a vibrant silk saree with antique jewelry for a regal look.

Corporate Elegance: A simple cotton or linen handloom saree is perfect for the office.

Casual Chic: Light-weight handloom sarees in pastel shades are perfect for daytime outings.

Their versatility makes them a must for every woman’s wardrobe. They are perfect for traditional and daily events, making them a must-have saree.

Common Misconceptions About Handloom Sarees

Despite their beauty, handloom sarees often face misconceptions:

“They’re too expensive”While the initial price may seem higher, the durability and timeless appeal of handloom sarees makes them a worthwhile investment.

“They’re hard to maintain”Simple care routines like dry cleaning and proper storage make sure they remain in perfect condition.

“They’re outdated”Handloom sarees blend tradition with modernity, offering designs that appeal to every generation.

How to Choose the Right Handloom Saree?

If you’re new to handloom sarees, here are a few tips:

Check for Authenticity: Look for labels or certifications that verify the saree is handmade.

Feel the Fabric: Genuine handloom fabrics have a distinct texture and finish.

Understand the Weave: Learn about the weave’s origin and history to appreciate its uniqueness.

Invest in Quality: Choose trusted retailers who offer genuine handloom sarees.

Handloom sarees tell the story of their origin, so learning about its types will deepen your appreciation for this classic craft.

Pure Handloom Silk Sarees: A Timeless Treasure

Handloom sarees are not just garments, they’re a celebration of India’s cultural history. Choosing them over machine-made sarees is a step toward sustainable fashion.

At Shivane’s Boutique, we offer a carefully curated collection of handloom sarees. Our range includes pure handloom silk sarees sourced directly from skilled artisans. Classic Banarasi, vibrant Kanjeevaram, or modern linen saree, we have something for everyone. Each piece blends tradition with contemporary style perfectly. Discover the joy of handloom and add a touch of grace to your wardrobe with Shivane’s Boutique.

Pure Handloom silk sarees are a way to keep India’s artistry alive. They also support artisans who work tirelessly to create masterpieces. With impeccable quality, unique designs, and eco-friendly build, handloom sarees are a perfect choice for anyone looking to add a personal and regal touch to their saree wardrobe. Read more: Why Choose Pure Handloom Silk Sarees?

[studioayanasilksareesboutique]

Banarasi Handwoven Tissue Border Work Silk Sarees - Jashn

Rs. 15,499.00

Product Details:

Banaras tissue silk handwoven with zari borders and grand pallu

Gold & Silver tissue weaving all over

Contrast banaras silk blouse with coordinated borders

(as shown in last image)

The saree comes with its own blouse piece.

The one worn by the model is only for styling purpose.

Note: Colors may vary slightly from screen to screen

Ayana practises a Flat Shipping Rate concept.

Shipping rates do not change based on the weight of the total cart.

Innumerable products constitute to the same shipping cost.

If you have opted for blouse stitching,

our design team will get in touch with you within 48

hours of order confirmation for measurements and pattern suggestions.

Note:

Festive Collections.

Worldwide Shipping.

Domestic Shipping All Over India.

Door Step Services Available.

Ayana practises a Flat Shipping Rate concept.

Shipping rates do not change based on the weight of the total cart.

Innumerable products constitute to the same shipping cost.

If you have opted for blouse stitching, our design team will get in

touch with you within 48 hours of order confirmation for

measurements and pattern suggestions.

House on Ayana's E-Gift Cards is a perfect &

a convenient option to express your love.

Be it any occasion, we've got you covered!

E-Gift Card is the perfect gift for Birthdays,

Anniversaries, or any other special occasion.

Let that special person in your life choices for themselves.

Gift Cards are redeemable only at

http://www.houseofayana .com,

and we're excited to be a part of anyone's BIG DAY!

Happy Shopping.!:)

[womensclothingworld]

Paithani Silk Sarees | Traditional  Design Saree | Best Saree Shop in Chennai – Sundari Silks

This peacock zari buttas hot pink Paithani Silk Saree with intricate peacock designs and luxurious zari work, this saree exudes elegance and sophistication. Made from high-quality silk, it offers comfort and style for any special occasion. Elevate your wardrobe with this exquisite saree.

Shop from: https://www.sundarisilks.com/collections/paithani

Visit our website: www.sundarisilks.com/

[leheriya1]

Stylish Dupattas for Every Occasion: Shop the Latest Trends

A dupatta is a storyteller that weaves together tales of uniqueness, artistry, and tradition. It's that enchanted fabric that turns an ordinary ensemble into a show-stopper, a nod to tradition that blends with modern fashion. The world of dupattas offers a rainbow of options, ranging from the vibrant designs of a bandhani silk dupatta to the delicate charm of a kota doria dupatta. Let's investigate this fascinating realm and find the newest styles that all women should be able to show off.

Bandhani Dupattas: A Splash of Vibrancy

A bandhani dupatta is a perfect representation of Gujarat's festive mood and Rajasthan's sunny scenery. Each item seems like a hand-painted canvas because to the delicate tie-dye method used in its creation. These dupattas are a celebration of color and craftsmanship, whether you opt for a breezy bandhani printed dupatta for everyday appeal or a pure bandhani dupatta for your festive ensemble.

Searching for something unique? A bandhani print dupatta's contemporary charm elegantly incorporates tradition into casual attire, while a pure silk bandhani dupatta is your best option for a royal touch.

Leheriya Dupattas: Waves of Elegance

Leheriya dupattas are a visual delight with their patterns that resemble water waves. They have an air of refinement but also a lively spirit. A multicolored leheriya dupatta adds a pop of color to even the most basic ensembles, making it ideal for an outdoor event or mehendi ceremony.

Kota Doria Dupattas: Grace in Whispers

Use kota doria dupattas when you want comfort without sacrificing style. These breezy, light dupattas exude the allure of simplicity. Your ideal summertime partner is a simple kota doria dupatta, which goes well with patterned kurtas or even western clothing for a fusion style.

Pure Silk Dupattas: Drapes of Royalty

A dupatta made entirely of silk is a work of textile poetry. It is a classic addition to any wardrobe because of its luxurious luster and silky texture. A genuine silk bandhani dupatta or a traditional banarasi dupatta turns your ensemble into a royal occasion, whether it's for a wedding or a lavish celebration.

Grandeur Weaves in Banarasi Dupattas

Banarasi dupattas elaborate zari designs demonstrate royal craftsmanship. These dupattas are relics that bear the weight of tradition and the promise of elegance; they are more than just clothes. To create an outfit that effortlessly attracts attention, use a banarasi dupatta with a silk saree or a basic suit.

Applique Work Dupattas: Artistic Allure

If you're drawn to handmade and distinctive touches, applique dupattas are the stuff of dreams. A message may be made without using words thanks to intricately stitched designs that give basic materials life.

Dupattas Made of Chiffon: A Light Dance

Think of a pure chiffon dupatta as a fabric so light that it feels like air. These flowing dupattas add elegance to fusion and ethnic ensembles. Their subtle elegance, whether worn with a kurta set or a lehenga, is evident.

Bandhej Dupattas: Timeless Tie-Dye

Nothing compares to an online bandhej dupatta for a hint of classic style. These garments are rich in tradition, whether they are a lighter version for everyday use or a colorful pure bandhej dupatta for festivals.

Accessorize Your Dupattas with Style

For a contemporary ethnic touch, drape a bandhani silk dupatta like a saree pallu.

Over a simple anarkali, use a lavishly embroidered banarasi dupatta to add layers of drama.

For a stylish, bohemian look, wear a vibrant leheriya dupatta as a scarf.

Use bold earrings to draw attention to a simple Kota doria dupatta for a minimalistic style.

Every dupatta has a story of creativity and culture, ready to complement any ensemble and express your individuality. Be it a breezy kota doria dupatta or a pure silk bandhani dupatta, explore this world of elegance and let your style speak for itself. 🌸Unfold the elegance of tradition with Leheriya where every dupatta tells your story, Shop Now!

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How to Select the Ideal Fancy Saree for Weddings and Party Wear

Selecting a bridal saree for the occasion of getting married is one such interesting yet tedious task. A  saree for womenn's weddings serves as a perfect dress that will help you excel and stand out, which is the dream of every bride. fancy sarees for party wear  are also popular for weddings because of their stylish designs and beautifully crafted fabrics with a lot of work done on the pieces. 

As you figure how to go about buying the perfect saree, do not forget to take into consideration your wedding's theme and color palette. Classical colors such as gold, red or maroon will never go out of style while things like pastel and other oblique colors are becoming more popular with brides. Fabric also constitutes a great deal of concern – georgette, chiffon, and silk are all typical materials in use for fancy sarees for women  because of their smooth drape and swanky feel. 

Buying for fancy sarees  is made easier by the fact that one can look for unique and different looks, potential costs along with customers reviews without leaving their home. This reduces the hassle that comes with sourcing for the perfect saree. If you are comfortable with fancy sarees online, then light-weight sarees with fancier embellishments are the way to go. Light embroidery, beads or sequins used in sarees for formal occasion parties can add charm to one’s overall look without the weight of excess fabric. On your wedding day, the best advice is to wear a saree that you like the best to enhance your beauty on what it is arguably the most important day in your life.