Thoonga Nayakkar’s wardrobe consisted of only one veshti. One hot afternoon, as he walked to the pond for a bath, he bent down to pick up a tamarind fruit. And just like that, his veshti ripped right down the middle. In this rib-tickling short-story Vaetti written by Ki. Rajanarayanan in 1972, Thoonga Nayakkar sits on a rock under the tamarind tree and reminisces about the peculiar veshti habits of the men in his village. The writer weaves the various kinds of dhotis of the time into the story — the flowery dhotis Thoonga Nayakkar’s grandson wore, the sheath-like dhoti of ‘Minor’ Nayakkar, the peacock-eye dhoti, silk-bordered dhoti, teri-cotton dhoti, zari dhoti, silk dhoti …why, there’s even one called ‘kuzhai mul’ that came stuffed inside a pipe-like structure! The origin of the dhoti tradition is not known — but, even today, the garment holds a certain charm for the young and old alike.
Our leaders looked dignified in their dhotis — each in his own style. K. Kamaraj wore white dhotis and loose-fitting shirts with sleeves that ran down to his forearms; Gandhi turned it into a knee-length half-dhoti; and Subramania Bharati wore it as a panchakacham teamed with a black coat. The white dhoti brings to mind politicians with plastered smiles and that stiff vanakkam.
Worn by men all over India in styles unique to various states, the dhoti is four or eight yards of cloth in cotton, silk or a mix of both. There is subtle politics woven along this length of cloth. In the past, the way it was worn told you the man’s caste, his occupation, and also gave you an idea of his income. Those who worked in the fields wore the half-dhoti so that the cloth didn’t get soiled by the mud. (Gandhi took on this style after he met starving farmers toiling in fields in Madurai.) Men also folded it up when they had to engage in physical labour or lounge by the teashop.
Today, youngsters mostly wear it to weddings and festivals. But there are a few who wear it on an everyday basis. Thirty-year-old Muthu, a social-worker, says he prefers the dhoti since it’s comfortable. “I find it easier to move around in a veshti than in pants,” he says. “I’m not wearing it to make myself look respectable. But when I’m in a room with a 60-year-old in a veshti, he feels uncomfortable since the garment makes me look like his equal. I’ve felt this on many occasions.” Muthu started wearing the dhoti when he was in his teens. “When I cycled in my hometown in a dhoti, the elders would mock me saying ‘Look at that thimiru pudicha payyan (arrogant fellow), when in fact I had no such attitude.”
True, the dhoti makes the wearer look dignified. But K.R. Nagarajan, founder of Ramraj Cotton, says that there are occasions when he was prevented from entering star hotels since he wore a dhoti. “I once had to sit under a tree outside a restaurant when my friends were eating inside; I was not let in because of my attire. My wife and nieces would ask me to change into pants if they were going out with me.” That’s when he decided to change people’s perception about the dhoti.
Nagarajan marketed his brand of dhotis as a style statement. He created an advertisement featuring an actor in a dhoti being welcomed with a salute as he enters banks and high-rise buildings. His latest offing is ready-to-wear dhotis with Velcro. “We’ve also introduced veshtis for children aged one to 12.”
January 6 is now celebrated at ‘Dhoti Day’, after IAS officer U. Sagayam appealed to people to wear dhotis to encourage weavers. Though the dhoti’s origin is hard to trace, historian Chithra Madhavan says that kings right from the 7th Century wore them. She says that in Pallava sculptures, men are depicted with dhotis that “fall flat at the ankle”. In Chola sculptures, on the other hand, they are “more naturally draped”. Chithra adds that, even today, a life-sized bronze statue of Vijayanagara king Krishnadevaraya exists inside the temple at Tirumala, in which a “silken garment clings to him” — a dhoti, no doubt. Mural paintings from the Vijayanagara period at Lepakshi in Andhra Pradesh too show people wearing dhotis, she explains. “They give an idea of what people wore during different periods.”
Dhoti patrons are loyal to the mills in which they are made. M. Velayutham of Vijaya Pathipagam says he’s been wearing the Paramsukh variety from Century Mills for years.
The attire was widely worn by those in Tamil literary circles as well. He recalls that poet Kannadasan preferred the dhoti with jibba and Na. Parthasarathy wore it with a shirt.
Kerala has a long dhoti tradition too; there, it’s called the ‘mundu’. Kochi-based designer Sreejith Jeevan has created “simple, wearable silhouettes” using the fabric. He has printed quirky images associated with the State around the ‘kara’ or the border.
The soft fabric has multiple uses. Mothers use them to make thottils (cradles) for their babies; old cotton dhotis are cut into squares and recycled as idli-cloths. In essence, the dhoti never dies. It lives on in the household, in one form or another.
Style tips from Sreejith Jeevan:
The dhoti goes well with rustic-coloured shirts in khadi or silk.
You can quirk it up by teaming it with a bright printed shirt.
For festivals, try dhotis with neon borders.
Play with the colour of the border; try matching the shirt with it.
