Sound The first time I draped the beige tussar silk saree, I had no premonition. Even when I ran my fingers across the embroidered flowers and paisleys on the dull gold of the coarse silk while adjusting the pleats, there were no whispers. The soft rustles were empty. Except for the mellow jingles of the gold butterfly danglers and bangles beneath the whirring fan, there was neither a sigh nor a chide. I had expected at least a rebuke. When nothing came drifting in the afternoon breeze, I...