Their display of lower limb anatomy would have done any medical college anatomist proud. But the then H.O.D., a staid Burma War veteran, put an abrupt and permanent stay on rising hemlines. His circular decreed that all skirts must perforce reach "four inches below the tibial tuberosity". Strangely, the order served to put everyone in saris, rather than in longer skirts.

Much later, when I myself became the same department's head, times and tides had changed quite drastically. Newer sartorial trends took over. The mini, however hasn't yet made a return. But maxi skirts had, for awhile, with slits extending to almost hip level. Of course, saris still were worn by the demure and homely.

Here too some alarming eye popping trends appeared suddenly. Hipster saris. One girl in particular, was quite a whiz at hitching her sari up (?) at so 
low a waist line, that I as an anatomist often wondered what osteological or 
soft tissue anomaly held it up, or prevented it from dropping.

I am considered quite modern myself, and sport jeans and long hair to boot. 
So dress sense is something, I consider personal. However, when I noticed 
that too much distraction, to students and some younger teachers alike was 
caused by the lady's screamingly low sari levels. I had to intervene. 
Attendance was up, but attention level was abysmal. Something had to give 
way, either the sari or my principle of keeping off dress style. But Geetha 
persisted in defying gravity and anatomy. Her sari perched precariously on 
seemingly unsupported props. And her navel jiggle was turning things topsy 
turvy. To add maximum effect, Geetha wore blouses which were but narrow 
strips of see-through muslin. The expanse of thoraco-abdominal anatomy 
available for surface study defied social taboos.

Discreetly I called her over, and politely suggested maybe a change in her 
vastrashaili would do good all round (not all would welcome Geetha in any 
other form, and status quo would be favored)

The uppity nose cocked a snook, and her left eyebrow arched coquettishly. 
Obviously my line of approach would not work. The sari was destined to stay 
hovering in the zone that defied physical tenets. The midriff would stay exposed. And the navel would continue to jiggle erotically.

I need to talk to your mother, I said.
She'd be glad to sir, after hearing from me, she hisses.

The import of the impertinent response was clear in a week. The senior 
Geetha came calling. One look at her, and my mouth went dry. No, it didn't 
stay shut. It fell wide open. If Geetha's sari was Limca Book stuff, the 
mums was surely Guinness. Her sari was, well.....

Geetha has long gone, perhaps a thriving physician somewhere now. I wonder if the passage of time has made her look or outlook any different. But all students, specially the male ones of the late seventies thought Geetha was divinity personified. The girls of the batch though, had an altogether very 
'canine' name for her.

(The article originally appeared on www.sulekha.com).

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