06/05/2026
One thing surprised me during my Aadi Kailash trek.
Not the altitude.
Not the climb.
Not even the fact that I was doing it in a saree.
It was how many people called me "Aunty."
Young kids, I understand. But many of the people calling me Aunty looked my age—or older than me. Men and women alike.
And before anyone says it, no, I'm not offended by the word. In India, it's often used respectfully.
But it did make me think.
Isn't it interesting that the moment a woman wears a saree or traditional Indian clothes, people automatically place her in a different category?
Almost as if a saree instantly adds 20 years to your age.
If I had been wearing leggings, a hoodie, and sunglasses, would the same people have called me Aunty?
I'm in my 40s. I don't consider that old. I certainly don't feel old while trekking up a mountain to Gauri Kund and Parvati Sarovar.
What I found even more ironic was that many of these "Aunty" comments came from people struggling on the climb while I was slowly but steadily making my way up in a cotton saree.
The funny part? The same people who called me Aunty were also cheering me on.
"Aunty, you're amazing!"
"Aunty, how are you doing this in a saree?"
"Aunty, you've inspired us!"
And honestly, their encouragement carried me through some difficult stretches of the trek.
So this post isn't really about being called Aunty.
It's about how we perceive women.
Why do we still associate sarees with age instead of strength, adventure, confidence, and possibility?
This was my first trek where I climbed in a saree from the beginning instead of wearing one only at the summit. It was a simple cotton saree from , but it carried me through one of the most memorable journeys of my life.
Maybe it's time we stop seeing a saree as a symbol of getting older.
And start seeing it as a symbol of showing up exactly as you are.
And yes, if climbing to Aadi Kailash in a saree makes me an Aunty, then I'll wear that title proudly. 😊❤️
