The makeup artist stepped back after placing the final touch of red on my lips. “Perfect,” she said with a satisfied smile, and then she helped me drape the heavy red saree. It shimmered under the warm light of the vanity mirror, its embroidery so intricate it looked like it had been spun from pure gold. The saree itself was so magnificent that I decided to wear minimal jewelry. Just a pair of kundan earrings, delicate bangles, and the mangalsutra that felt like it weighed more than all the gold in the world because of what it meant. The fabric hugged me, flowed around me, made me feel regal and yet vulnerable.