Costume

At a recent function where I was welcomed to my Son fiancée’s home, we all are wearing colorful clothes. Mine is the mustard, and yellow one. The girl’s parents had asked me to come over for lunch. I told them that I would be coming late as men would be working at making my veranda enclosed, and extended. I had totally forgotten that Lala (my older brother) had asked me to lunch too.

As I was getting ready to go, Lala phoned to ask me when I would be coming? It was a an embarrassing moment to realize that I had accepted two invitations at one, and the same time. I made my excuses to Lala, and hurriedly got myself in the car. We made it to the village, got the guide to direct us to the girl’s village.

Rabia’s parents had invited all their. close relations. I was showered with rose petals, as I got out of the car, and then garlanded. They had made it into a grand occasion. My cheeks were on fire, as I was on display with so many eyes looking at me. I wanted to shrink, and disappear. It took me some time to recover.

So you see we don’t need costumes. Our shalwar, qameez essemble are as colorful as costumes.

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Costume

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Tailor

One can’t go, and ask a complete stranger from where did she get the shirt she is wearing? Sometimes I do muster up my courage, and overcome my nerveousness to ask the aforementioned question. Often I get a reply which doesn’t really answers my query, and I get disappointed.

I need shirts to wear with pants, and jeans, which are hundred percent cotton, shouldn’t show cleavage, fully cover arms, and cover decently front, and behind. Shirts like that doesn’t exist, or maybe I’m unable to find them. If they are lengthy enough, arms and cleavage are on display, or they are minuscule not covering anything.

In search for shirts, I signed up for sewing letters which offer free patterns. I haven’t been lucky in that respect either, except for getting inundated with unwanted emails. I have to daily find time to delete them, otherwise they keep clogging my inbox.

On my last trip to home country, my tailor made a mess of my clothes worn there. When an occasion arises to wear a shalwar, qameez ensemble, I find myself with clothes badly sewed. Where to find a good tailor? It has become a dilemma.

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DAILY PROMPT

Tailor

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Exposed

Photo Credit: Google

My marriage was an arranged one. I had never met the members of my late husband’s family, except for mother in law, and one sister in law. My marriage took place from my uncle’s home, as he was my guardian after father’s death. Uncle had arranged for their stay in an adjoining rest house. The in-laws had come from Charsadda, where as my husband to be flew directly from Rajshahi, as he was stationed there.

It was about 4am after the wedding night. I had come out from the bathroom, and was going to lie down, and catch further sleep, when the bedroom door opened, and the in laws entered unannounced into the bedroom. I was caught in my pjs. I felt exposed meeting my in laws that way without an attire of qameez shalwar ensemble, and without a dopatta covering my head.

No one had told me that they would be leaving the next day, or I was expected to meet them so early in the morning, otherwise I would have been more, or less prepared.

My brothers in law, one by one started with shaking my hand, while the sisters in law hugged, and kissed my cheeks. As suddenly as they had come, they waved goodbye, and left.

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DAILY PROMPT

Exposed

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Elegant

I am trying to nail this elegant thing. I used to be terrible at wearing elegant clothes. I didn’t know which colors would suit me. With the frequent postings of my late husband I was hard pressed at finding good tailors who could stitch clothes according to my wishes. Tailors in general follow the universal designs liked only by themselves. 

I didn’t want low cuts, not wanting my chest on display. I have never liked fitted shirts. I wear loose shirts which won’t cling to my body. I now know how to do the alteration to my own clothes after I get them stitched from my tailor.

Three years back I shifted permanently here from my home country. I am still trying to find my way in this maze of dressing. Dressed in shalwar, qameez and dopatta I stood out among people here.  While going from Houston to New York in 2013, security at the airport was  troublesome. It was the reason I took to wearing jeans, pants and shirts. I didn’t like the shirts I bought in the beginning, I gave them away. 

I am petite. Clothes in my size are difficult to find, specially pants. Clothes in the girls’ section are way too small, and tight, and in the women’s section pants are larger in size. This year I became good at altering pants too. I didn’t have one in grey. I bought one at Target, shortened, and narrowed it to my size.

I can’t wear polyester clothes. I bought some hijabs not knowing they were polyester. My neck formed blisters. I thought an insect must have bitten me. I continued wearing those hijabs. During this time my neck went from bad to worse. Once it dawned on me what was the real cause I had to discard them. I found cotton ones which aren’t that pretty, but at least they don’t make my skin itch, or form blisters. 

I have to search for cotton shirts which will look good on me. The pretty ones are all polyester. I avoid those. I am learning gradually how to find clothes at cheaper prices (when they are on Sale). Once in a while I do get lucky in finding something which I like, and is affordable.

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DAILY PROMPT

Elegant

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Our N Mamu

Our N Mamu was, no sorry it’s is (he is still alive) our mother’s half brother. Our mother’s mother died at the birth of our aunt so our grandfather got married again. Our N Mamu was a constant fixture in our life, meaning he would be there at our house whichever way we turned. When he would go back to his home in the village, we would breath a sigh of relief. ‘Good Riddance.’ But sooner or later he would be back.

The thing which irritated us most was that as soon as he reached our home he would come to our school. He would be waiting outside and when we came out from the school building he would rush towards us in broad ‘View’ of our class fellows. I used to die with ‘Mortification’ when it happened. At that moment in life I used to wish I could turn invisible. I would slunk quickly towards our school’s gate to get over the ‘Ordeal’ of my class fellows’s inquisitive gazes. Now to think back what an ‘Obnoxious’ person I was at that moment in time.

To our childish eyes he looked totally inappropriate in his attire. He would be wearing a long shirt and shalwar. In our minds we wanted him dressed more like Elvis or the Beatles or to say we would have loved if he had looked really ‘Cool.’ That was our definition of coolness. He had started growing his mustaches and beard and that caused us more misery in turn. One day we hatched a plan to get rid of Mamu’s mustaches and beard. As usual he was back at our home. That afternoon we made him drink a lot of ‘Lassi.’ Lassi is made of yogurt and water. While Mamu lay down to have an afternoon nap all of us had gathered in his room. Mamu suspiciously eyed us so we dispersed. We waited till we were sure that he was sound asleep, then we took a scissor to his beard. We had cut half of his mustache when he woke up. You can imagine how furious he was. Needless to say Mamu stopped coming to us. I feel deeply ashamed of what we did to him.