Sarongs - the secrets unfold

A good many Sri Lankan male politicians possess extremely long ones. Conan the Barbarian, sports an excessively short one of sorts.

Notwithstanding the anatomical attributes of either politicians or barbarians - although I suspect they both cherish the same lust for power - it must be conceded that they reveal a most practical dress sense.

I am referring to the humble sarong which is perhaps the most simple and practical nether garment since Father Adam invented the fig leaf. The sarong is a tube made out of a rectangular piece of cloth 45 inches by 33 inches which enables the wearer to either slide into it legs first or simply slip over the head.

In Western culture today, the stigma about men wearing sarongs is slowly lifting and lots of snobs are beginning to realise that there is nothing so wrong in sliding into a sarong! It may seem inconceivable to many but the simple sarong, draped with a deft hand, falls in cascading folds to taper beautifully at the ankles, making it a garment of admirable elegance. The secret is in the draping and the hitching of the knot bang on your belly button.

The easiest way to drape a sarong is to draw in two ends, one from the right and another from the left, then leaving allowance for length, fold one over the other, tying a dexterous knot using only one’s thumb to tuck it in snugly into the waist.

The Malaysians and Indonesians have their own versions of the sarong in its many-splendoured hues. The figure-hugging cloth for females is referred to as the sarong kebaya or the lungi. But the conduit cloth, the seemingly almost shapeless habiliment, the despair of most Western designers is above sexist boundaries. Bashful village damsels in Sri Lanka drape themselves differently using a single piece of cloth to be wrapped around the waist. As a bathing costume tied slightly above breast level, the folds reach calf length. Male voyeurs fishing by the same lake don’t get much for their trouble. Modesty wears them out.

To the Sri Lankan male in particular, a sarong is what the kilt is to a Scotsman, the dhoti to an Indian and a flowing robe to a Bedouin. Because of its practicality in tropical climes, its easy draping facility and above all the supreme comfort it affords the wearer, the sarong has become an inextricable part of Sri Lankan life. Politicos and their sycophants at first squirmed into sarongs and sherwani-like bat-winged tops all in pristine white to endear themselves to the masses at a time when nationalistic fervour infected the country like the plague.

The purveyors of nationalism rigged themselves out in what was described as the “raiment of the people”. It was perceived theoretically to be a sort of

equaliser though the difference, from a sociological point of view,appeared glaringly obvious. The politicians’ outfits were, and still are, designed from top of the range materials, poplins with a silky sheen if not from downright raw silk from India or China.

For those without any political ambition, sarongs come in a variety of hues, from sober white checks and pastels to polka dots, stripes and garish rainbow hues, from tartans and formal wear in black and silver to a kaleidoscopic range of batiks.

For them too, the simple sarong is so flexible it can be draped to hang just about any length from mini to midi to maxi level, without the slightest alteration. You could, by grabbing the hemline, fold it deftly into a skimpy mini-length skirt of sorts in an instant.

This is generally done in a moment of quick improvisation - to handle an immediate chore, for instance. But a word of caution about the instant kilt: do not, for Heaven’s sake, bend forward too low or you will certainly run the risk of being considered risque or at any rate risk exposing yourself to the gaze of a hilarious rear-view audience.

As bed-time garb the sarong beats pyjamas hands down. Not only is it conditioned for comfort but personal modesty forbids me from going to the details of the multitude of sins it covers. Besides, it does wonders for the egos of people who sport, albeit umwittingly, varicose veins, the skinny-leg, the thunder-thigh and the knobby-knee.

Consider its other benefits: if one were not too prudish about it, the sarong makes visiting the toilet a breeze with a simple lift of the hem. And imagine the advantage the rig-out has for would-be flashers and/or streakers! Perhaps one could liken it to the kilt in this regard except that the ankle-length sarong provides a greater insurance cover and protection.

The sarong can be worn with practically any kind of top garment and it provides a bonus for the bare-bodied who can wear it over the shoulder as a sort of toga in the event of a cold snap.

A Sri Lankan colleague has a penchant for wearing his sarong thigh high at all times. He claims it gives him a certain mobility in everything he does although he concedes that worn thus it does get a bit draughty at times. He swears he once crossed a flooded stream lifting his drapery higher with each wading step until it ended up as a kind of turban around his head. He was wet up to his chin but his sarong remained as dry as a Madras cricket pitch.

But a sarong, however comfortable, is not the type of garment to be trifled with. They are emphatically impractical attire for fighting. Any seasoned skirmisher will tell you that the disadvantages are obvious. The biggest drawback is that he cannot resort to the old two-fisted, one-two punching combination for the simple reason that one hand is necessary to keep his sarong hoisted throughout the battle.

Also it should not, I repeat not, be worn at wild parties nor would it be prudent to wear one with leg-grabbing toddlers around. One wrong jerk and down will come vestment, dignity and all. And if you must cross your legs, do so with forethought because a careless posture could render you exposed in the most awesome and spectacular manner - your defences down, never mind the embarrassment.

A Sri Lankan lecturer friend who covertly used to bathe stark naked in the river close to his picturesque campus tells this story against himself: Spotting a noisy bus-load of undergraduates about to pass, he mischievously leapt to his feet, covered his head with his sarong exclaiming as he did: “In these parts I am recognized only by my face.” Wrong! The poor chap was recognised by his sarong. It was the best-known and most colourful on the campus.

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