I warn you, this post will hold plenty of gratuitous narcissism.
It was a long-running joke among some of the volunteers that I was a shopaholic, which may come as a surprise to my friends and family in the States. I'm usually a horrible penny pincher, but jee, something sure snapped in me.
I was absolutely fascinated by the clothing in Bangladesh - the meters and meters of luxurious fabrics, the stunning embroidery, the multitudes of ribbons and mirrors and beads. The magpie inside of me went "oooh, shiny!!!" at every turn.
It was hard to resist. Part of me reasoned it all by saying hey, this top or piece of fabric would cost x amount more in the States, so it won't hurt to buy it... or hey, I didn't have an outfit in that color quite yet... or man, this was a very unique design/texture/whatever. Safe to say, I probably amassed a good $1000, give or take, in clothing alone. Oops.
Sadly, what follows is barely even half of what I bought and owned over the course of my time in Bangladesh. Looking back, a part of me is ashamed that I spent all this money on clothing... but I can't help but adore all the pretty things I now own.
In Khajuraho, India, Jessi and I happened upon a shop owned by a Kashmiri man who went by the name of "Super Mario." He was quite the character, and a very good salesman, I might add. We were bloated on delicious Kashmiri tea, draped in sumptuous Pashmina scarves, and slowly swindled out of a couple thousand rupees. Wherever you went, you had to bargain hard, or otherwise people would take advantage of your foreign-ness (which we found especially true in India and Thailand).
Hands down, my favorite store in Bangladesh was Aarong, which was owned and operated by BRAC, the world's largest NGO. Remember how when you were little, your mom would promise you a trip to the toy store if you were good? Yeah, that's what going to Aarong was like for me. I invested plenty in tunic tops - just a shirt, sometimes simple, sometimes elaborately stitched.
I also bought several shalwar kameez at Aarong. The shalwar kameez was the full outfit set that included the scarf (dupatta), tunic (kameez), and pants (shalwar). When you went into the store, they were just lined up on the walls, arranged by color and price. Sadly, the majority of employees recognized me by the end of the year... haha.
Another favorite place to shop was Deshal, affectionately dubbed the "newspaper store" because the walls were papered with a newspaper print. They had cheaper, basic cotton shalwar kameez and tunics for sale. They were so comfortable that one became my standard travel outfit for whenever I took a bus or plane.
You could also buy fabrics, either one at a time or as a three piece set. Then you took them to a tailor, got measured, and usually had them finished in a week. I bought several of them in different corners of Bangladesh, Nepal, and India. They remain some of my favorites.
Above, you can see how a standard three-piece might look like: usually plainer fabric for the pants, a large stretch of material for the top, and either a finished or unfinished scarf. On the right, I'm accompanied by two of my lovely Nepali students, Archana and Dipa, during the university conference in Dhaka. The students owned clothes that were easily equally or even more stunning than what I could find.
I only purchased a couple saris, but they were fantastic investments. The red and white one was a heavy Indian silk from downtown Chittagong, and the orange and green hand-embroidered one was from a random shop in Udaipur, India. It took quite a long time to get the hang of putting on a sari, but it was well worth it. I miss wearing them.
I also bought quite a few clothes in Thailand. Their dress is definitely not as conservative there, and we could get away with baring quite a bit of skin. I even broke one of my personal rules and lent/borrowed clothing from Ayla, such as the green dress above.
And all those clothes required a lot of upkeep. I handwashed almost every single kameez and tunic, to make sure our beast of a washer didn't destroy the delicate stitching. Everything usually hung to dry in our living room, or from the ties of my mosquito net. Handy, eh? I also was able to mix and match various purchases with some of my American clothes, such as my favorite yellow shirt from Banana Republic.
So, call me a greedy glutton of fabric, but damn did I love all the clothing in southern Asia. If only people wouldn't stare at me funny when I wore it here in the States. It's so odd to be used to one manner of dress, and then have to revert back to my old manner. When I returned to the States, I was shocked and definitely found my old clothing to be restrictive and revealing. What I wouldn't give to be back in the breezy, cottony freedom of a shalwar kameez.
*A lot of these pictures are courtesy of the awesome Jessi Hinz!
*A lot of these pictures are courtesy of the awesome Jessi Hinz!
No comments:
Post a Comment