Three Bideshis Went To Market
on From Banglatown to Bangladesh (Bangladesh), 10/Feb/2009 15:53, 34 days ago
One of the first things you notice as a bideshi, or foreigner, in Bangladesh is the difference in dress. Bangladeshi men, depending on their wealth and status, wear either Western-style shirts and trousers or shirts andlunghis. Shirts and trousers are generally the preserve of the higher classes; they are invariably immaculately pressed, with the shirts tucked -in neatly to trousers held-up at the waist with impressive belts, and may be followed with a stylish tank top if the weather’s cool.Lunghis, worn by rickshaw-wallahs and other 'working' men, are significantly more interesting: like man-sarongs, they are long pieces of material, often in bright colours and with random patterns, tied around the waist. Exactly how they are tied I am yet to discover, but they provide a clothing option that is both cool and airy, and versatile, as they seem to change from full-length skirts to miniature hot-pants in a matter of seconds.Unfortunately for my male VSO counterparts however, the option oflunghisas the clothing of choice for bideshis seems limited to the household (although I am pleased to say that we managed to persuade Ollie, one of my fellow Youth for Development volunteers, to buy two. He’s also bought at least one tank top. But that’s another story…).While men's clothing has its areas of interest therefore, it is in the arena of women's dress that the real differences, and scope for creativity, lie. In plainlands Bangladesh women wear bothsarisandsalwar kameez, although it is the latter that seems much more common (here in the hills there are many other indigenous dress styles, but I’m taking my time getting acquainted with those, particularly following the shoebox incident – see post below).Salwar kameezconsist of long tunic tops (kameez), long trousers (salwar), and a scarf (orna) that is draped across the chest, (one would not want to reveal one's feminine assets in public of course).Salwar kameez, likesaris, come in pretty much every colour and pattern you could think of, often all at once. As my previous comments might imply, and as those of you who know me might guess, I do have a certain ambivalence to dress customs that seem to suggest women's bodies must be covered as a testament to their female modesty and honour. I do also of course recognise arguments that the short skirts and low-cut tops favoured by so many in the West are not themselves signs of female emancipation, but it's not a debate I feel like pursuing here.Instead, I want to tell the story of‘The Three Bideshis Who Went To Market’, otherwise known as ‘How (to borrow another friend's phrase) I Got 'Bangla-ed Up'’. I originally started writing this post way back in October. At that time, myself, Laura and Jo (two more of my fellow YfD volunteers), were led by another, more established volunteer, to a small shop in Mohammadpur Market, a market about five minutes from our flat back in Dhaka. Mohammadpur is one of my favourite places in Dhaka; a trip there entails the full range of sensory experiences described in the ‘Setting the Scene’ post below, and inevitably drawscrowds of 5, 10, 15, or 20+ people. There, crammed into a tiny shop, pulling giant rolls of fabric down from the walls, we took our first steps into the vibrant world of Bangladeshi dressing, in which the word ‘matching’ is given a whole new meaning. Lime greensalwarand hot pinkkameez? Why not? Stripes and spots? Of course.Leaving the shop with arms full of fabric– and a promise to return with our friends in exchange for a discount (the discount was also achieved by Laura patting the shop owner on his rather prominent stomach, but the art of bargaining can be described another time) – we then set off to the next step in the process of getting Bangla-ed Up: buying ribbons. In a land in which glitz, glitter and anything shiny seems to be revered, undecorated fabric is simply unacceptable. This time we stretched ourselves over a ribbon counter, pulling down rolls of ribbon, comparing them to the fabrics and discussing the merits of each. After eventually deciding on just the right shades of shimmer, we made our way to the final stage in the pursuit ofsalwar kameez: the tailors. Just like buying cloth and ribbon, going to the tailors is an event in itself, requiring an entire series of decisions, measurements and discussions (particularly over necklines– tailors generally have at least one book of various neckline styles). Eventually, after the standard cups of sweet tea, biscuits and answers to the usual set of questions (where are you from? how many brothers and sisters do you have? what are you doing here? are you married? why not? whenare you going to get married?’), we left, returning in one week to pick up the finished products.Since October, the process of getting Bangla-ed Up has developed significantly. My firstsalwar kameez, despite the bright colours, were in reality very tame, consisting of block colours and only the most minimal ribbon decoration. Shopping trips in Dhaka have extended beyond the basics of Mohammadpur to the vast, crowded and chaotic markets of New Market and Chandni Chowk, and with the occasional purchase in more upmarket stores which display stunning clothes, but requireonek taka(lots of money) and so are generally beyond the scope of the volunteer allowance. I’ve given up matching ribbons to plain colours, instead opting for printed fabrics in contrasting patterns. My consideration of necklines has now extended to discussions ofsalwarstyles (tight or loose? front tie or side tie? with buttons at the ankles?), andkameezlengths (below the knee for conservative areas, shorter if you want to be more risqué).Although there are some pattern combinations that I am still hesitant about, I recently spent about twenty minutes considering one particularly memorablesalwar kameezthat included:• multi-colouredsalwar(trousers) with thin stripes,• a multi-coloured (different shades of course)kameez(top) with thick stripes and a bright yellow fish-like pattern embroidered on top of the stripes,• and a multi-coloured (again, contrasting colours to those used in the trousers and top)orna, which sported checks, not stripes.While I couldn’t quite bring myself to buy this explosion of colour and pattern this time, my consideration of it is a sign of how far I’ve come since that memorable day four months ago when Three Bideshis Went to Market. I may not be fully ‘Bangla-ed Up’ quite yet, but I’m on my way.