‘Dupatta’: Dying, but not buried yet!
The fitful race for gender equality prompted by the Wild West’s ways has often resulted in throwing away of the proverbial baby with the bath water.
‘Dupatta’, the Indian head scarf for women, was never a simple two yards long piece of linen. It has been an important part of sartorial elegance synonymous with femininity for ages. It has slowly gone missing from the heads (and wardrobes).
Time is not far when future generations will have to download classic movies of yesteryear to understand what it used to look like.
Who can forget Nargis singing ‘Hawa mein udta jaye, mera lal dupatta malmal ka (the wind bloweth away my red muslin ‘dupatta’)’ in the movie ‘Barsaat’ or Meena Kumari ruing in ‘Pakeezah’: ‘Inhi logon ne le leena dupatta mera (These very people have removed my ‘dupatta’)’.
A ‘dupatta’ used to be a symbol of woman’s honour. It was customary to cover one’s head in the presence of elders, while praying at a place of worship and while cooking in kitchen.
Whereas first two functions were dictated by our culture rooted in feelings of respect for the elderly and gods, the third was a hygienic necessity, considering that a hair fallen from an uncovered head could impart trillions of bacteria into the food being cooked or served.
Even a tip of a single hair supports upward of 1.5 lakh bacteria! Moreover, due to heat in the kitchen, ladies found it handy to use a ‘dupatta’ to wipe off sweat from the face.
Even today, you cannot enter a food processing or a drug making factory without covering your head, as it will violate good manufacturing practice.
Wearing a ‘dupatta’ over one’s head protected the hair from dust and grime, as it was the age when ladies found time only on weekends to wash the hair with curd or buttermilk and rub coconut oil in their tresses.
Shampoos and conditioners had not made an appearance and the shine of a wellbraided head was in no way less than what we see on the chemically nourished hair these days.
The ‘dupatta’ used to signify the situational needs too. A white ‘dupatta’ was sported by a widow to sensitise those around about her condition, whereas a brightly coloured one meant gaiety and frolicsome disposition.
Red was, of course, a colour worn by newlywed brides. Black was for mourning.
The pink colour was the colour that gave rise to romantic and passionate sentiments.
Remember Meena Kumari singing in the movie ‘Pakeezah’: ‘Hamri na mano rangrejwa se poochho, jisne gulabi rang deena dupatta mera (If you don’t believe me, ask the dyer who dyed my ‘dupaatta’ in pink)’.
This reminds us of another vanishing breed, ‘rangrej’ (the dyer), who used to set shop at street corners. We rarely see him in our cities now, with his boiling pan, dying ‘dupattas’ in fast colours to match the colours of dresses of his clients.
Forget utility of this piece of cloth; just see how it oozed love. Haven’t we seen in umpteen number of movies, where a hero gets injured and the nervously reluctant heroine tears off her ‘dupatta’ to dress up the wound, thereby declaring her love for the suitor? Can we forget the coyness of the ladylove visible in the following lines from the famous song of movie ‘Dhool ka Phool’, where hero sings: ‘Dupatte ke kone ko munh mein daba ke, zara dekh lo iss taraf muskura ke, mujhe loot lo mere nazdik aake (shying away with a corner of ‘dupatta’ in your mouth, please smile and ravish me by coming near).’
Be that as it may, the old order changeth, yielding place to the new. ‘Dupatta’ is still not fully dead and gone as elderly ladies swear by it and dare not move out or visit places of worship without covering their heads. It may be dead or dying, it has not been buried as yet!
FORGET UTILITY OF THIS PIECE OF CLOTH; JUST SEE HOW IT OOZED LOVE. HAVEN’T WE SEEN IN UMPTEEN MOVIES... A HERO GETS INJURED AND HEROINE TEARS OFF HER ‘DUPATTA’ TO DRESS UP THE WOUND, DECLARING HER LOVE FOR SUITOR?