A recent parliamentary incident involving the term ‘lungi-walla’ as a slur has prompted a discussion on provincial prejudice and the cultural significance of the lungi, a practical garment often unfairly associated with negative stereotypes. Despite historical biases and competition from Western attire, the lungi remains a popular choice for many, symbolizing comfort and affordability. The article argues that such derogatory language targeting traditional clothing reflects deeper societal prejudices that need to be addressed for greater inclusivity.

A recent parliamentary incident involving the term ‘lungi-walla’ as a slur has prompted a discussion on provincial prejudice and the cultural significance of the lungi, a practical garment often unfairly associated with negative stereotypes. Despite historical biases and competition from Western attire, the lungi remains a popular choice for many, symbolizing comfort and affordability. The article argues that such derogatory language targeting traditional clothing reflects deeper societal prejudices that need to be addressed for greater inclusivity.

A recent parliamentary incident involving the term ‘lungi-walla’ as a slur has prompted a discussion on provincial prejudice and the cultural significance of the lungi, a practical garment often unfairly associated with negative stereotypes. Despite historical biases and competition from Western attire, the lungi remains a popular choice for many, symbolizing comfort and affordability. The article argues that such derogatory language targeting traditional clothing reflects deeper societal prejudices that need to be addressed for greater inclusivity.

Until the issue cropped up the other day in Parliament, I thought I had outlived infamy and outgrown those withering glances directed below the belt. Now ancient prejudices have got a fresh lease with a ruling party MP reportedly heckling her Opposition counterpart repeatedly calling him a lungi-wala in a jeering tone.

For those unfamiliar with the term, a lungi-wala refers to more than the innocent wearer of a lungi. It is a provincial slur and was once used as a wide-angle insult to cover all South Indians, even when said South Indians were decked in 3-piece suits. Let me confess, I am one myself - a lungi & bush shirt man for as long as I have been able to set my own dress code, and I live to tell this tale.  

The lungi’s advantages over alternatives in the almirah are obvious. It is inexpensive, comfortable and all-weather. In addition to serving as the staple wear at home, my lungi accompanies me readily to the market, bank, local teashop and on periodic good neighbourly visits. If I adjust its length by tucking the fold around my knees, I am even game for impromptu football in the parking lot. But none of this has boosted the lungi’s brand image. 

All apparel is equal, but some are less equal, and the lungi unfortunately finds itself in the latter class. It is an earthy piece of fabric with no strings attached. What you see is what you get. No flounces or frills, no sudden slits or romantic ruffles. But it still leaves haute designers cold. While svelte divas have occasionally sheathed themselves in luscious lungis to sashay on the catwalk, those are Page 3 exceptions. The rule is that your lungi is the sartorial equivalent of dal-roti – wholesome and unconcerned about approval ratings.

As mentioned earlier, it has not been smooth sailing all along. In the Mumbai of the1960s, amid a rising tide of regional chauvinism, the lungi became a visible and, admittedly, somewhat risible target. The backstreets of the city echoed to provocative slogans like ‘Bhajao pungi, bhagao lungi’ (Blow the trumpet, banish the lungi). But time has provided the healing touch, and practicality overcame prejudice. Fools who came to mock, remained to purchase, each selecting the pattern and print they liked, and there was a wide choice on offer.

Despite aggression competition from Western inducements like trackpants, shorts and jeans, the lungi has held its own. It still has an army of adherents in rural Punjab and Bengal apart from a wide arc of the south.

In Kerala, we are more fastidious than friends in other states. We make a distinction between the lungi for home wear and a vanilla white version – the immaculate mundu for the office. For the record, it was a mundu which the Opposition MP was wearing when so unfairly targeted. He could easily have corrected his critic in the course of his passionate response, but he let it pass, and so shall we.

I am not clear how the matter was eventually settled between the MPs. If it still lies unresolved, may I suggest they put their differences back into the closet and along with party members come together for a conciliatory lungi dance, lungi dance…?

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