Up to the 1970s sari was the formal dress of women in the political lime light, like Begum Aurangzeb who accompanied her father Ayub Khan as first lady, and Mrs Bhutto. It was the dress in which filmstars and singers, from Madam Noorjehan to kafi singer Suriyya Multanikar appeared in public. It was the everyday dress of women. Begum Zia-ul-Haq wore shalwar-kameez. Today only MQM's Nasreen Jalil wears a sari as a formal dress, and dancer Sheema Kirmani. In both cases the sari is a statement of protest against the idiotic stricture that only Indians or pro-India females wear saris.
Eversince Zia's time, what females wear is dictated not only by political but also religious attitudes more than by the fashion pundits, the grand world of Pakistani couturier and textile mills who hire them to design printed cottons and lawns. What women wear today is, therefore, a mass of political and ethical confusion. But Pakistani female clothing industry is big business. It has a market stretching from here to the USA, to include, of course, Canada and the UK. The same three-piece unstitched cotton or lawn set, which sells here for $30 sells for $300 (lowest price) in the USA. So you can imagine how huge the clothing business has become.
In the 1960s and 70s when young women became aware of their Pakistani identity and espoused it with a passion, what they thought about the country's politics was often reflected in what they wore. For instance, in the Zia era when anti-India propaganda was at its peak women wore dhoti shalwars and sleeveless shirts. The religious ideologues voiced their opinion of women in 'chaadar and chaardiwaari' (meaning head-to foot cover and domestication). City women threw away the dupatta. That was the first time in our history when there were no dupattas with what we wore. Jeans and trouser suits also became trendy. Today, the majority has simply abrogated its right to think and wear what their social habitat dictates. So in any gathering you will find women in hijab, women with their heads covered in dupatta, women wearing revealing shoulder-slipping shirts, women in bell-bottom or straight pajamas, or shalwar or chooridars. Hardly anyone wears only what they personally want to wear.
The place where lack of dress sense is most apparent is among female politicians whose presence is growing in our provincial and national assemblies. Some dress as if they are going to a wedding, some dress as if they will be invited to stroll on the fashion show catwalk. Except for a handful, what these women wear does not reflect they are supposed to be doing serious business of legislation. In contrast the men in assemblies are dressed seriously either in suits or white cotton shalwar-kameez with a vest. I find this so irritating I wish there was a dress code for politician females. May be something like a uniform, both in style and colour, which all women in assemblies should wear. If women members of parliament are not taken seriously it is also due to the fact that they don't look like they mean business, they look frivolous by their grooming. They are therefore treated casually. Their Bills are subjected to male dictate.
How you look does reflect your mental outlook. It is important to look serious when you do serious business. That is why female lawyers also wear a black gown like male lawyers. It gives their clients a sense they can trust this woman lawyer to plead their case in court. Do we really trust women parliamentarians to plead our case in the assemblies?
May I suggest a smart, lightweight, hip-length jacket in a neutral colour like beige to be worn over whatever the parliamentarian female prefers to wear, with a matching plain dupatta or hijab in the same colour. This can be thrown off after the assembly session. There simply has to be some formal dress code in the assemblies for women.
The cloth shops have nothing that can be called simple. The cottons and lawn are a hodge-podge of prints, embroidery, and colours. In short, confused designs for a confused nation?
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