The winter is slowly deepening. As the misty mornings get nippier and nights arrive soon after you have wound up lunch, there is another noticeable phenomenon in Kathmandu. Cleavages go under cover. No, not the ones on top generally to be seen on the female of the species. The other ones, on the posterior, the universal cleavages. Both men and women, (all young, mind you), sport butt cleavage exposing, or, in other words, low-rise jeans through the year. Belts in this scheme of things, are not utilised to hitch up recalcitrant pants, but as accessories meant to accentuate the cleavages they help reveal.
The Nepali frame (at risk of making communal statements, and at great risk of unifying the Limbu, Rai, Newari, Sherpa, Tamang and Gurung ethnicities) seems eminently suitable to the showing of the derriere. Low slung jeans, one will be forgiven for assuming, was custom-made to this part of the world (and Korea, of course). Unlike the heavy-bottomed frame found south of the Vindhyas, the slim-hipped body is a perfect show-case for the ever-sliding garment. And having slipped, therein lies the true measure of élan: does the wearer desperately hitch it up, or nonchalantly let it lie, exposing undergarments (of varying griminess, laciness or thong-ness, as the case may be). But come winter, and jackets and pullovers, no less a statement of style, cover up the nether regions, quite literally. No more alluring glimpses of derrieres peeking out of waist bands trotting down the streets; in supermarkets reaching for the hair oil on the top shelf; on courier delivery men who lurk around offices in their helmets (the disguise is useful protection against routine insults about mysteriously vanished parcels); hanging out of micro buses (the lowest of low rise jeans are the uniform of microbus assistants, whose job it is dangerously dangle out the door and hustle passengers, and sometimes innocent passersby who happen to be near the door).
Cleavages of all kinds are undoubtedly tantalising, the “what lies beneath” being the subject of romantic fantasy and lewd speculation. But butt cleavages are, one learns, not mere raunch. They are a political statement, no less. “Saggin’ pants”, so named because of pants that, well…sag, low enough to reveal underwear, a norm in prisons in the West where belts are not allowed due to potential violence towards others or oneself, including the threat of suicide. Prison-style meshes well with counter-culture, with low-rise pants allowing the display of, not only varying amounts of underwear, but also tattoos, piercings and the like.
Going back to the heavy-bottomed youth South of the Vindhyas – how do they express their rebellion, or in this case, their butt cleavages? Certainly, would not the balmy climes be more conducive to such display? And undoubtedly, permitting an ample belly to sag comfortably over the waist of low rise pants is way preferable to the button of normal jeans digging into one’s middle. The more common body-type down under is curvaceous, lending itself to drapes – saris and dhotis- that can be equally revealing, but are conveniently adjustable, unlike low-rise jeans that would demand punishing diets and exercise regimens from generous-hipped and rounded-thighed but fashion-conscious youth. Unless trendy pants are designed for these bodies (akin to the designer lines custom built for African-American females, which incidentally, are a perfect fit for narrow-waisted, big hipped individuals), cleavage-revelations will have to be conducted from behind georgette saris.
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