Revisiting the past is often cathartic
Viewing a student wearing a beautifully elegant classic gharara with traditional jewellery, one can only be reminded of the timeless gracefulness of the dress now lost in the cross mix of the western and eastern wear that has none of the grace of the age-old gharara.
A dress originating from Lucknow, it was worn by Muslim women, hailing mainly from the northern side of Lucknow, of well-placed families of Taluqdars and Nawabs. The gharara is made up of a loose pant, from the thigh till the knee and then it flares into cascading swirl of material stitched to the straight pants in pleats and pleats of gorgeously rich fabric. The place where it flares out is known as “goat” and adorned with beautifully shimmery adornment in gold or silver or a mixture of both called the ganga-jumna. Another kind is known as the ‘patta-patti;’ gharara which consists of vertically cut six inch silks in vibrant colours stitched together to form the swirling ‘skirt’ of the pants and resplendent to behold. All twelve meters of it! It is worn with either a short kurti or a long shirt and a long, trailing duppata (or veil). It is often worked over with traditional zari, dabka, zardozi.
A lovely lady Farrokh Namazi wrote the following, “Though we as a family are not from Lucknow, my mother, a first generation Iranian Karachiite, embraced the gharara with all her heart. She was an excellent seamstress, (stitched all her five daughters clothes till they were well into their teens) and had learnt the art of stitching a luknawi, Delhi, Hyderabadi, gharara and chooridar. Many an Eid, and many weddings of cousins and friends, met was a gharara or chooridar we looked forward to wearing. And the milads, of course. It was a given, that’s what the attire would be.
It was such a life of colour, joy, delight at the varied ways in which a gharara could be embellished.
Then there were the family friends from Ambala, Ludhiana, etc. who we never ever saw in anything else but the gharara. Chamois silk plain creamy ones for day wear, more festive as the occasion demanded. The fine gossamer muslin or net kurtis and dupattas with fine hand tatted lace edging. Everything was so very delicate and done by hand with immaculate beauty, not a stich out of place, worn with a grace difficult to match.”
Once they were worn as a daily wear. The dress would be simpler; plain satins for gharara with a white chicken-fabric shirt and a dupatta (veil) of white malmal (a soft lawn) the duppata would more often than not be of ‘chunnat’.
When I was younger, young girls, older girls, aunts, all wore this timelessly graceful outfit not only for special occasions but also at the ‘meelad’ held at houses. A regular feature. A meelad is traditionally a gathering of women, reciting events from the lives of The Holy Prophet and reciting ‘naats’. Guests turned up in their gharara, the lady of the house of course would also be dressed in one. It was a special occasion. White sheets were spread on carpets for seating- to ease an aching back; round traditional cushions known as ‘gao takyas’ were put against the wall. A low stool would hold the books from which the ladies, who were to recite, were placed. Placed also on the table would be two ‘agar-batti’ or incense. On another low stool stood silver ‘gulab pash’. This was used to sprinkle rose water on the guests. The gulab pash has been used since the Mughal Empire (1526-1857). They were used in the Mughal court to sprinkle rose water on the guests upon their arrival. With the gulab pash would be a silver platter containing sweet and ‘sadda’ pan (bettlenut leaves) with an alcove holding ‘ilaichi’ and ‘misri ki dall’i’. This would be passed around to all to sweeten the mouth.
The first formal function of a wedding, started with the ‘mayoun’. The meelad would always precede the rasm-e-mayoun itself. Eids were another occasion we would look forward to; we all got a new gharara, of course with the accompanying kurti and dupatta. In those days all my maternal aunts would work with my maternal grandmother to prepare gharara for all the girls of the family. They were of course, identical. Hours of fabric cutting and whirring away on sewing machines, family chit chat and snacks marked the happy occasion of their preparation. One I particularly loved was when I was eight or nine years old maybe. A pale pink taffeta with silver ‘gota’ at the knee of the joining pant-flare with a pink lace and silk kurti and a silk duppata of coordinating colour.
Times change. Fashions change.
Siraj Khan, an honoured friend says, “I guess, the only thing constant is change.”
The mohajireen who arrived in Pakistan carried their own culture. I remember right up to mid-1960s, I had never worn a shalwar. It was always kurta/pajama…both always white. No colour. Shalwar was only for servants. My dadi had her gharara / paandaan / ogaaldaan, gulab paash. Paan was offered to all guests, in a gilori. Mushaera sittings were common at home. Shami kabab with chapati was staple diet at home. The younger used adaab as the first greeting to all elders. The usual response was “Jeete raho”. Abba would wear a sherwani at most weddings. (I still have my dada’s sherwani, interestingly stitched in England).
Then we lost East Pakistan, ZAB took over the left-over Pakistan. The ladies shalwar qameez and men’s awami suit took over with a vengeance and overwhelmed other outfits. Even the sari went to the back burner.
Somehow the first image that still comes in my mind of a lady wearing a gharara is of Begum Rana Liaquat Khan.”
Gharara whispers sophistication and grace. It is undoubtedly romance with timeless beauty, culture and class. It reminds me somehow of Amir Khusro, “A needle is better than a sword; the latter cuts, while the former sews.”
