I travelled light to Bangladesh, taking only those items I thought were essential (which as a molly-coddled westerner still included an mp3 player, laptop and several tins of Heinz baked beans). As such, the time quickly came when I needed to brave my first Bangladeshi shopping trip. Among other things, I needed a new towel, some shorts and underwear.
Just a few minutes from my hospital I discovered a men’s clothing store called Westec. It was a marble and stained black wood affair, something that has pretensions above itself and wouldn’t look out of place on the shabby end of Oxford Street. I wandered about the shelves picking up a towel and browsed the shirts and jeans. In the furthermost corner of the shop I spotted the boxer shorts, 195 taka (about £1.30) for three. Jackpot! Mark recommended that I buy a size bigger than normal, the average Bangladeshi being much slimmer than the average European, so I picked up a packet marked large and hurried to the counter to pay for my purchases.
It was only on returning to my room that I discovered the horror of what I had done. The boxer shorts were in fact briefs, or rather some kind of brief/knicker (brifkers? kniefs?) genetic crossbreed. They were too big to be knickers and yet there was no place to put your genitals. It was as if they were designed by and for eunuchs or castrati. Nonetheless, these facts didn’t dawn on me until much later; I was busy gagging at the colour of the brifkers. The pattern was thin stripe in the most lurid colours imaginable, pinks and peaches mingled with purples, reds and oranges looking like a fading bruise. Perhaps the eunuch who designed these monstrosities was really seeking revenge on mankind?
I’m a limited writer at the best of times, but so you can truly appreciate these pants please cross your heart and look below.
The only question remains did I wear them? On that topic I keep a pensive silence much like a shell shocked soldier returning home from the war.
