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... on how sexual rights affect one personally, and how they are affirmed and/or violated in one's local cultural setting.
Jayanthi Kuru-Utumpala
I have never enjoyed attending weddings for as long as I can remember. In
fact the thought of having to go for one would torment me for weeks, from
the moment I received the invitation until the end of the function.
This is largely due to the fact that one is always expected to wear
‘appropriate’ clothing for such occasions. Of course, the definition of
‘appropriate’ clothing differs from region to region. In my case, as a woman
from South Asia, ‘appropriate’ clothing often meant, not only being bundled
up in six yards of cloth (a sari) or being draped in a shimmering,
glittering Shalwar Kameez or Ghagra Choli, but also being
forced to wear hideous jewelry and layers of make-up, which for me was
nothing but absolute torture.
I recall wearing a sari for the first time when I was 18 years old. The
occasion: a friend’s wedding. My mother insisted that a sari would be the
most ‘appropriate’ dress. However, being stubborn I kicked up such a fuss
that my mother had to drape the sari three times for me before I was packed
off for the wedding. By the time I reached the venue of the wedding, knowing
that I was rather late, I ran up the stairs, not realising that one needed
to lift the front pleats of the sari before attempting to run. Before I knew
it I had tripped on my sari and was flat on my face. Quickly picking myself
up I walked into the banquet hall only to find the newly wedded couple on
their way out. The wedding ceremony was over, the dinner had been consumed
and the guests were leaving. That was probably the shortest wedding I ever
attended. Ever since then I have avoided weddings as much as possible.
The point I’m trying to make is that every one of us has a right to dress in
whatever clothing we feel confident and comfortable in. However, due to
various reasons, many of us often dress in ways that are expected of us, in
a bid to please others. The social conditioning process is so strong that
most of us either consciously or unconsciously, wear clothes that we are
expected to wear, as men and women.
As a child I was often called a tomboy not only because I was permanently
scaling all the coconut trees in the garden but also because I was always in
a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. As an adult woman, I continue to face a
number of comments such as – ‘O dear! You look like a little schoolboy!’,
or, ‘So, are you a boy or a girl?’ – simply because I’ve got short hair and
refuse to wear stereotypically feminine clothing. However, I know that I
have a right to dress as I choose, in a manner that is my style, and fitting
the occasion. The old cliché ‘Clothes Maketh the Man’ needs to be reviewed
in the light of present understandings of sexuality and gender. Thus while I
agree that appearances do count a lot, I would rather choose to
appear confident and comfortable.
Jayanthi Kuru-Utumpala works as Legal and Policy Reform
Program Officer at the Women and Media Collective, a Colombo-based
organization that works towards promoting women’s rights in Sri Lanka. She
holds a Bachelor’s Degree in English Literature from Miranda House, Delhi
University and is currently reading for her Masters in Women’s Studies at
the University of Colombo.
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