Who said I couldn’t wear tank top

All I wanted on the eve of Diwali last year, was to be able to go out, get my groceries wearing comfy tank top. I expected that most shops would be closed the following day as Hindus celebrated the festival of lights and sweets (and firecrackers). If I couldn’t do my shopping I would starve by Sunday. I was not insecure about Diwali (Saturday) as I was invited to celebrate the festival with two families that took care of lunch and dinner.

It’s a protracted walk to and from my favored grocer’s shop on a humid day. I fought long and hard with myself before finally deciding to go out in tank top with a shawl wrapped around my shoulders. It was a compromise after internal debate whether to conform to Tamilian culture or assert my right to wear anything I wanted.

I wondered what could happen if I went out baring my shoulders. Light-skinned, I am obviously a foreigner here. I thought that Chennai, being a mixed of Tamilians, South Indians and few other nationalities, it would be more tolerant when it sees a foreign woman walking alone in the streets in tank top. But remembering that we have been advised to respect the culture, and that the erogenous zones for them were legs, shoulders and chest, a tank top could be perceived as an affront. Worse, create an image of loose morals.

Although most people I asked told me that Chennai’s culture has changed considerably through the years the conservatism is palpable through the clothes they wear. Majority of women wear sari. A sari is a colorful untailored fabric five or six yards long wound around the waist, the extra length is thrown over one shoulder, pinned to the blouse, goes all the way around to the waist, the end is tucked in at the left side of the front waist. It goes with short-sleeved, tight-fitting blouses enough to cover the upper trunk. The midriff is only partially hidden, but one need not peek through to see their bellies.

Many men wear lungi, by my estimate three for every ten men. A lungi is like a sarong, a fabric with two opposite ends sewn together, it’s draped around the waist pleated in front of the groin. Some lungis are folded twice and worn short, some four or five inches above the knee.
I often wondered what’s under a sari or a lungi. Once or twice I no longer inhibited myself and just begged female colleagues to lift the hems of their saris to show what they use as undergarment and saw that they wear long skirts. I couldn’t do that with men, but I was told they may have boxers. Yet during Diwali there was a man in lungi lying carelessly on a pavement, I accidentally (okay, maybe not accidentally) saw that there was nothing underneath. I am digressing.

With all due respect to their culture, if women can bare their bellies and men their legs, what is so wrong if I am fully clothed save for part of my shoulders? It may be an erogenous zone for them but my own sensibility tells me the bellies and legs are better unexposed.

Here in the compound where I live, my male neighbors wander about without shirts on, while women are covered down to their heels even inside their homes. This differentiation in manner of dressing alone already infuriates me. Much as I want to be sensitive and respectful of the culture it runs counter to my conviction to gender equality. I cannot go on here as volunteer without ever having to do something or anything about it. Certainly I cannot change their thinking and their values, but I can at the least assert my own right.

I asked colleagues in my organization if it’s really impossible for me to go out in tank top. They said not. Both male and female colleagues said I could do it at my own risk. Just be prepared for the consequences; probably be stared at more than usual. Perhaps they may even pardon me for being a foreigner.

Taking the risk was the least I could do so I don’t insult myself feeling powerless just over what I could wear or not. So then I resolved that I would dress up as decently comfortable as possible, just to desensitize the people around me and those I would meet in the streets. I took the risk and went to the grocery shop on that eve of Diwali in tank top and a scarf to cover my shoulder. As I wore the scarf loose it occasionally dropped and exposed my shoulders. Except for a young boy who looked intently, curious than anything, no one actually was insulted, offended or outraged (at least not overtly).

I also started going up my rooftop wearing shorts to hang my clothes. The first time I did it, a male neighbor who happened to be at his terrace called the other men to come out and ogled. I was finished hanging my clothes by the time I could make out what they were saying in Tamil. The succeeding times they got used to seeing me in shorts with a bucket full of clothes to dry and there was no more fuss.

Six months after that Diwali and after having explored larger parts of Chennai, I found that other Indian women (read: not Tamilian) do wear western clothes in a far more daring fashion. Roles are reversed as I am now the one who can’t help gazing at them, but in a deferential manner.

There are a lot of moral policing going on in India, not just in Chennai, too many restrictions especially for Indian women. It takes courage to challenge the cultural norms, shedding off the sari makes at least a good start, so does wearing a tank top.

(Note: I find sari one of the most elegant things a woman can wear. I even loved it when I wore one. It’s different when it is considered a symbol of women’s status in male-dominated society.)

photos by Francesca (me in sari) and Mike (men in lungi)