math is hard!

Clothing was a big player on this trip. My newly purchased items were OK but didn’t entirely cut it, especially for the wedding, and I ended up shopping for yet more clothes so as to not stand out. While men mostly wear Western style clothes in the cities, most women wear traditional dress.

It struck us as kind of funny that while saris reveal an expanse of skin from just under the bust to the waist , modesty requires shoulders be covered. The bride whose wedding we attended wore a sleeveless top one day, inspiring comment from one of her aunties, who said, “My, aren’t you modern.”

My theory is that while women’s stomachs range widely in attractiveness, especially as years and gravity take hold, shoulders usually manage to remain alluring.

Catherine and I took a walk around the lake in Hyderabad one day wearing our Western clothes—nothing sexy, just jeans and loose (although scandalously v-necked) t-shirts. We were kind of sweaty and really not looking our best but were nevertheless hollered by passing men as if we were hoochie mamas. This convinced us to change our style for the duration of the trip.

Don’t you love saris? They’re so beautiful—all those mouth-watering jewel tones, the drapes, the trim. The bride bought saris for all the women in her wedding party and so our first day in Hyderabad included a stop at a sari shop for last-minute fittings. Most of the women had already mailed their measurements for cholis, the little tops worn under saris, but we then spent a while sitting in a closet-sized shop surrounded by beautiful fabrics while they were measured again and shown the colors they would wear for the wedding.

We also all shopped at a department store as well as at a chaotic market for the more casual uniform of the Indian woman: the salwar kameeze, which is long full pants worn under a tunic and accessorized with a long scarf.

This outfit fascinates me not only because it’s incredibly comfortable and appropriate for the climate but because I love the simplicity of having a uniform. Women all wear the same thing in different colors and patterns with slight variations in the cut of the pants, the length of the tunic (I’m told shorter tunics are more modern), the way they drape their scarves. And everyone looks beautiful in it. I purchased three of these outfits and I’m trying to decide if I would look foolish wearing them in Dallas.

Shopping in the market was fun. You slip off your shoes and sit on the padded floor of a stall while the owner whips out outfit after outfit for you to admire. It’s like prestidigitation—magical piles of colors and patterns, sparkle and silk until you finally walk away or succumb to one, two or as many outfits as they can persuade you to buy. Bargaining wasn’t difficult, although who knows if I got the best price. I got prices good enough for me—a full outfit of salwar, kameez and orhna could be had for about $10-$20.

This also was my first experience of seeing many women in burqas. While I wouldn’t want to be required to wear a burqa, I confess to finding the sight of dark almond-shaped eyes looking out from the heavy black drapes strangely alluring. And, having blossomed to bodaciousness at an early age in New York City, where many men imagined that kissing, sucking, hissing noises were appropriate appreciation of women on the street, I also could imagine enjoying the freedom such a covering would provide. In fact, through much of my hippie-dippy adolescence, one of my favorite garments was a vintage nurse’s cape, which provided me and my overdeveloped body some protection.

I did note, however, that lots of women wore sassy shoes with their burkas, and the clothing didn’t prevent them from being among the many courting couples we saw in city parks.

Today I am a hoochie mama in sweatpants and a 20-year-old sweatshirt. I miss dressing as an Indian.