Why I Wear a Sārī
A graduate of Kṛṣṅa conscious schools tells why she chooses to wear the traditional Vedic dress.
By Madirekṣanā Devī Dāsī
WHY DO THEY cover their heads?” the small Catholic girl asked of the nun holding her hand.
The girl was unabashedly pointing at me across the room of the glass blower’s cabin at colonial Greenfield Village in Michigan. She was with her Catholic school, and I was with my Hare Kṛṣṅa school. My girlfriends and I were all wearing colorful sārīs, our heads covered.
The nun looked at me, probably because I was the oldest girl there, and smiled. I returned the smile and heard her tell the girl, “For the same reason I do.”
I was flattered and amazed that she had instantly understood that I was a religious woman just as she was, trying my best to follow God’s laws even in matters of dress. Although our religions are different, there was an immediate bond between us because we recognized each other as people of God.
Hare Kṛṣṅa women don’t have to wear a sārī, but I choose to wear one because it forces me to constantly prove myself as a religious person—to other people, to other Hare Kṛṣṅas, and to myself.
My sārī makes people want to know why I don’t conform. People ask me what my purpose is in life and why I have to wear a sārī to fulfill that purpose. This is what I tell them:
The thrust of the Hare Kṛṣṅa movement is to dedicate one’s life to God (Kṛṣṅa) by acting piously and by thinking about Him as much as possible. Acting piously starts with giving up gambling, intoxicants, meat-eating, and illicit sex. We think about Kṛṣṅa by, among other things, reading scriptures and singing Kṛṣṅa's name. That’s why the favorite pastime of Hare Kṛṣṅa devotees is singing Hare Kṛṣṅa.
Wearing a sārī helps me stay pious and remember Kṛṣṅa because it helps keep me away from sinful activities. It helps remind me and others that I’m a devotee of Kṛṣṅa, in the same way a policeman’s uniform helps him remember his service and reminds citizens he’s an agent of the law. While in uniform, he must be especially careful to follow the codes of conduct for a policeman.
Being constantly aware of my purpose in life makes me always try to act carefully so as not to make my religion look bad. When I’m in a sārī I have to remember that I represent the Hare Kṛṣṅa movement. Everything I do or say will reflect on my religion. If one police officer gets out of line, the entire police force becomes embarrassed and is often held to blame. Occasionally, I’ve done something foolish in public while wearing a sārī and have felt embarrassed not only for myself but for all Hare Kṛṣṅas.
My sārī tells other Kṛṣṅa devotees I’m a serious practitioner. Many devotees wear their religious dress only for ceremonies at the temple. By wearing my sārī everywhere, I show other devotees I’m serious about my religion and won’t stray.
It’s easy to be a Hare Kṛṣṅa around other Hare Kṛṣṅas, but to be one around people who may be doubtful, intolerant, unconcerned, or even antagonistic will make me a stronger devotee. The test of a true religious person is the internal determination, not the external dress. I’m not the Hare Kṛṣṅa I want to be unless I’m one in all circumstances, good or bad—in sickness or health, in wealth or poverty.
By staying Kṛṣṅa conscious in all circumstances, I can prove to myself that I’m a serious devotee of Kṛṣṅa. So, except for the occasional fear that I might trip on my sārī and fall down the administration building stairs, I proudly and cheerfully wear sārīs to college. After all, I’m a Hare Kṛṣṅa whether I’m wearing a sārī or not. Might as well warn people!
Madirekṣanā Devī Dāsī, age 19, attended Kṛṣṅa conscious schools for all but one year of her education. She took many college courses by independent study and has begun attending the University of North Carolina as a sophomore. After graduation, she plans to teach at a Kṛṣṅa conscious high school.