I think Punjabis are really smart," this el-egant sari-clad Delhi'ite said to me, but before there was time for ethnic pride to well up, she added, "and they are so much easier to wash and iron." I understood then that she was referring to my dress which to me has always been a shalwar kameez, our national dress, worn by both men and women from Peshawar to Karachi. I was soon to learn that in Delhi it was also called a 'Pathani', 'Pathan suit', or 'Khan suit' when worn by men.

The shalwar kameez came to the Subcontinent with the Central Asian invaders who introduced stitched clothing to this region. Indeed, one hilarious view is that the invaders' success was partly due to the fact that the people of the Subcontinent had to hold on to their un-stitched garb with one hand, thus having to defend their land unidexterously.

Be that as it may, we do know for certain that the word "shalwar" is of Turkish origin, signifying loose-flowing pants. Its modern version is more streamlined and is usually worn with a knee-length top or kameez. Women wear it with a scarf called dupatta or chunni or chader, which can vary in length and width. This dress possesses great versatility and lends itself extensively to designing while retaining a basic recognisable form.

Sari Stand Aside

In Pakistan, among the smart set, the sari had ruled the formal social scene for decades. It was not until the 1980s that the shalwar kameez really came into its own, increasingly replacing the sari as formal wear. Already the national dress, this outfit rapidly evolved towards greater elegance of material, cut, design and embroidery and came to be considered absolutely adequate for even the most formal of occasions, including weddings.

A diplomat's wife recalls returning from a Europe posting in 1984 and attending a cousin's wedding in Lahore, dressed in her most ornate sari. "To my dismay, there was no other sari-clad person in a crowd of 500. I was surrounded by women resplendent in shalwar kameez suits made of chiffon, brocade, organza, lace, 'tissue' and silk, exquisitely designed and embroidered with gold and silver thread, zari sequins, and beads. So much for my sari!"

Even as casual wear, the shalwar kameez had gained in sophistication. The public which had always sported this dress, now wore it with greater relish and style thanks to the increasing availability of ready-made garments.

In India, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka and Nepal, the sari has always held centre-stage, whereas the shalwar kameez, worn mainly in the Indian Punjab and the north, played the role of the proverbial poor cousin—acknowledged informally but seldom seen in the salons of the beau monde. The increase in popularity and acceptance of the shalwar kameez in these countries was partly a result of the success of Pakistani television serials. In fact, plays such as Dhoom Kinaray, Tanhaiyan and Parchhaiyan were watched not only for plot and character, but for women's fashion as well.

Tailors to Boutiques

Boutiques specialising in shalwar kameez mushroomed in New Delhi and Dhaka in the mid- and late-1980s. Once designers stepped into the field, they changed the outfit in many ways. Shalwars of new design such as the 'dhoti shalwar', the 'double dhoti shalwar' and the famous 'Patiala' took the fancy of the clothes-conscious. Kameezes became shorter, then rounded at the flaps, had slits up to the waist, shirt collars and buttons, and a wealth of other innovative detail. It took six years for the cycle to turn before the shalwar kameez regained its classic shape.

By then, the ready-made garment and designer businesses were firmly entrenched in the South Asian capitals. Dhaka's exquisite silks and Jamdani kurtas became increasingly sought after. In India, where it already had a niche, and in Pakistan, where it was the national dress, boutiques raised the ante considerably, presenting beautiful outfits at higher prices. People thought nothing of paying two to four thousand rupees for a nice ensemble.

In Karachi, PKR 20,000 to 40,000 for a set is not unheard of, with one outfit said to have been sold for 70,000! The logic that one could spend a lot only on saris which last a lifetime no longer seemed to hold. Women paid more but were liberated from the tyranny of tailors, long waits and drab designs. They readily took to ready-made suits although the possibility of running into an identical dress at a party had to be risked.

As the shalwar kameez began to become increasingly popular, designers began to focus on a growing class of client—the working woman, who, naturally, represented rising purchasing power. Inexpensive, practical designs were produced in abundance. Since it is much easier to board a bus, ride a scooter, run or walk fast in a shalwar kameez, it was logical that women stepping out of the house to work would turn to it. The fact that it was easy to maintain also saved time which was of essence to office- goers.

There is more to the shalwar kameez. Come winter, it affords greater protection for it can be made from thick woollen material as well. It is easier to combine with sweaters, vests and jackets. Woollen suits, plain or printed are the rage in winter, just as muslins, voile and 'lawns' are indispensable in South Asian summers.

International gloss has been added to the dress by magazines like Libas, first published in the mid-1980s in London, featuring outfits of exceptional design. It seemed to herald the arrival of the shalwar kameez on the international scene. And that is where it deserves to be, combining as it does the supreme sartorial virtues of comfort, elegance and variety.

N. Niaz is a Pakistani writer presently living in Kathmandu.