Dupattas be Damned!

It was 1992 when I was 12 – most likely the first time I was introduced to wearing a dupatta. (Google defines dupatta as, ‘a length of material worn over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez, by women from South Asia.’)

I despised wearing dupattas. Even at that tender age, I found it ironic that a piece of cloth that is supposed to ‘cover’ a female’s modesty is also a blaring siren screaming to the world of a girl’s blooming bust. I remember feeling brazenly exposed.

With only a year’s difference between us, my brothers were still roaming around in shorts as I was being conditioned to ‘cover up’.

My priorities included matching my brothers’ pace in football and not worry over my growing curves.

My hormones raged for power and force, not dainty!

But I was 12 then. My well-meaning father would not have it otherwise for his only precious daughter. I wanted to please the most important man in my life. So, I did as asked.

However, I was done with people-pleasing as I entered my 40s. With both of us aging, my father’s authority took a backseat as my voice finally found a place.

My relationship with the 2.25 meters of the fabric remains complicated. Now that I am comfortable being fuller, I love to carry a flowy chiffon dupatta as it slides over my curves making me feel sensuous. A soft, dark, all-encompassing velvet shawl makes me feel royal. But, ask me to cover my hair when the azaan plays in a mosque and I cringe with inexplainable fear. The very next moment you’ll find me at ease in my pure white cotton dupatta for my namaaz.

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Its 2023. I have a 10-year-old who’s not allowed to wear shorts now. She says she doesn’t like to show her legs and that wearing any dress above your knees is not halal.
My daughter. My husband’s pride. The apple of his eye.

My daughter wants to please the most important man in her life.

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“Isko ek halka sa scarf laa kr do,” says my mother in her most recent visit.

“Apni aabroo ko auron ki nazar se dhaka jaata hai beta,” my mother-in-law said to me the last time she visited us.

I’m forced to be 12 again.

However, the new 12-year-old me has discovered something that she didn’t know earlier - something potent, something huge.

“Mamma, can I at least cut my hair shoulder length?!” asks my daughter, a little frustrated.

“I think you could, if you want to,” I nudge at my girl. “You just need to be strong enough to admit that that is what you want for yourself – that it is YOUR choice. Not your Mamma’s. Not your Daddy’s.”

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We’re reaching the end of 2024. I haven’t been the most complacent spouse. Our home is a lively mix of laughter and loud, passionate disagreements. Here, no one submits to nonsense or bows their head in silence.

My son was about 9-years-old when I overheard my husband tell him at a community swimming pool:

“They can wear what they want. Look away if anyone makes you uncomfortable.” My son is 16 now and is almost always reminded of his own responsibility when it comes to socializing in a mixed gathering.

My 11-year-old daughter wears an abaya when she likes and chooses to don a shalwar kameez and dupatta when she wants to. Her favourite attire remains cargo pants and oversized Ts - without a scarf.

My husband and I are far from being perfect parents, but we need to ask ourselves what role we are playing in teaching our children about choice and consent.

I could actually narrate to you, in chronological order, the number of times I was touched inappropriately despite being ‘decently’ dressed - from the time I was a little kid. Girls are unsafe in schools, colleges, universities, workplaces, and in our own homes!

For generations, our fathers and mothers have tried to ‘protect’ their girls. If they had put even half that energy into educating their boys, they might not have had to feel so scared for us.

Note: This was first written last year in the safe space of

Ochre Sky Stories

and is screaming at the world now as women continue to be blamed in our society for heinous crimes committed against us. Men, stop making excuses and take responsibility. Women, speak up!