<p>When I was a child, I wore dresses with pockets in them. I amused myself in the garden by filling them with leaves, stones, and fallen flowers. Nothing my parents told me helped to dissuade me.</p>.<p>Then came adolescence, and with it, the voluminous saris I had to wear. I had to endure being wrapped up in yards of material. Besides, there was no room at all for pockets, nowhere to store keys or important slips of paper. When I told the tailor to add a pocket to the blouse, all who heard this were aghast and could hardly contain their mirth.</p>.<p>This led me to believe that pockets possess a gender and belong to men. I wondered whether denying them to women was their subtle way of controlling and subjugating them. After all, pockets hold money, and money means power. “What about handbags?” you may ask. They are cumbersome and can be mislaid or stolen.</p>.<p>What happened to my mother-in-law serves as an example. She was on a visit to a temple. When the door to the sanctum swung open, the people there threw up their hands in ecstasy. So did she. When the excitement died down, she found her handbag, which had all her money, slit and the cash stolen. Everybody blamed it on her carelessness, but none paused to think that the handbag had been an easy bait. Would this have happened had she had access to her pockets?</p>.<p>My theories about pockets were always met with suppressed amusement and scepticism. Imagine my delight when I dug into history and found it echoed my thoughts. Pockets existed thousands of years ago, and the development of their design brings up questions relating to fashion and gender equality.</p>.<p>The “Ice Man,” a perfectly preserved body discovered in the Alps, was found with a pouch. It contained valuable items and was strapped to his belt. In the 16th century, pockets were attached to girdles and belts. The designs were the same for men and women.</p>.<p>They were concealed underneath clothing to deter pickpockets. Then, in the 17th century, pockets began to<br />be sewn into men’s garments, but not women’s. Women had to fasten a pouch to a belt. Ornate in design, they matched their skirts. While men’s pockets were functional, those of women were impractical. Women had to look beautiful, and pockets would bulge and affect the drape of their dresses. So began the use of ‘reticules’ or small handbags, and soon pockets were left out of women’s clothing. Christian Dior reportedly said in 1954, ‘Men have pockets to keep things, women’s are for decoration.’ </p>.<p>These days, I have added salwar kameez to my wardrobe. I walk out with ease, keys, and money in my pocket. I am filled with nostalgia when my neighbour’s daughter stuffs stones into her pockets. I also understand why my granddaughter squeals with delight when she finds that her new pyjamas have pockets that have ample room for her phone!</p>
<p>When I was a child, I wore dresses with pockets in them. I amused myself in the garden by filling them with leaves, stones, and fallen flowers. Nothing my parents told me helped to dissuade me.</p>.<p>Then came adolescence, and with it, the voluminous saris I had to wear. I had to endure being wrapped up in yards of material. Besides, there was no room at all for pockets, nowhere to store keys or important slips of paper. When I told the tailor to add a pocket to the blouse, all who heard this were aghast and could hardly contain their mirth.</p>.<p>This led me to believe that pockets possess a gender and belong to men. I wondered whether denying them to women was their subtle way of controlling and subjugating them. After all, pockets hold money, and money means power. “What about handbags?” you may ask. They are cumbersome and can be mislaid or stolen.</p>.<p>What happened to my mother-in-law serves as an example. She was on a visit to a temple. When the door to the sanctum swung open, the people there threw up their hands in ecstasy. So did she. When the excitement died down, she found her handbag, which had all her money, slit and the cash stolen. Everybody blamed it on her carelessness, but none paused to think that the handbag had been an easy bait. Would this have happened had she had access to her pockets?</p>.<p>My theories about pockets were always met with suppressed amusement and scepticism. Imagine my delight when I dug into history and found it echoed my thoughts. Pockets existed thousands of years ago, and the development of their design brings up questions relating to fashion and gender equality.</p>.<p>The “Ice Man,” a perfectly preserved body discovered in the Alps, was found with a pouch. It contained valuable items and was strapped to his belt. In the 16th century, pockets were attached to girdles and belts. The designs were the same for men and women.</p>.<p>They were concealed underneath clothing to deter pickpockets. Then, in the 17th century, pockets began to<br />be sewn into men’s garments, but not women’s. Women had to fasten a pouch to a belt. Ornate in design, they matched their skirts. While men’s pockets were functional, those of women were impractical. Women had to look beautiful, and pockets would bulge and affect the drape of their dresses. So began the use of ‘reticules’ or small handbags, and soon pockets were left out of women’s clothing. Christian Dior reportedly said in 1954, ‘Men have pockets to keep things, women’s are for decoration.’ </p>.<p>These days, I have added salwar kameez to my wardrobe. I walk out with ease, keys, and money in my pocket. I am filled with nostalgia when my neighbour’s daughter stuffs stones into her pockets. I also understand why my granddaughter squeals with delight when she finds that her new pyjamas have pockets that have ample room for her phone!</p>