It is 8 in the morning. I stand in front of the mirror admiring my outfit that I chose to wear at university today,oversized shirts and jeans. But then I sigh as I reach for the hanger and grab my shield. The shield which protects me from piercing stares and street harassment.
My orna.
I drape my orna around my shoulders. Because if I do not, then the stare lasts for a little longer.
That is the morning dilemma of every girl in Dhaka- deciding whether to dress for herself or dress to be unbothered.
Most days, the orna wins.
But it is not just about draping; it is about constantly adjusting, checking if the shield is pinned perfectly, ensuring it is covered enough from the back, and the anxiety of it slipping off in public.
And if one day a girl chooses freedom in how she dresses by leaving off her orna, she becomes the subject of judgmental glares, clicks of tongue and audible sighs of disgust. And it comes from not only men but from women as well.
From random rickshaw pullers and CNG drivers to her family members leaving pointed remarks at the lunch table asking her, “Orna koi?” (Where is your scarf). Quick reminder that she is being watched.
And this public behavior forces her to cross her arms over her chest, walk faster, or hunch her shoulders as a secondary makeshift shield.
Worse still, whenever any woman in our country gets sexually assaulted, a toxic chorus echoes from the gossips on streets to Facebook comments: This happened because she did not wear her orna.
The situation of our country is like this just because girls nowadays do not cover themselves.
This phase thus creates a societal belief where the character of a girl is being linked directly to the two-and-a-half-meter orna and that a girl's safety is her own responsibility rather than the society’s.
A girl not wearing orna is labeled as shameless, rebellious, is asking for attention.
Society starts perceiving her as ‘approachable’ in a negative way, whereas a girl wearing orna is well-mannered and modest.
Modesty ceases to be about behavior and becomes about fabric.
This is exactly when orna transforms from a piece of cloth to a shield against verbal harassment, street harassment, and public objectification.
Because women have learned early on that even if they open up to their family, even their parents, about the public objectification they face on streets, the standard solution offered will be orna.
It is perpetuating a cycle of compliance rather than resistance, and this institutionalized response creates a ringing in our ears about how the choice ends at our doorstep.
This is a form of victim-blaming in advance.
It creates a fear of judgment and a private guilt that keeps victims from seeking help.
But is wearing the orna actually the antidote to all of this?
"I encountered unwanted physical contact while I was moving through the crowds of Gausia New Market, despite wearing an orna with modest clothing." shared 23-year-old Nusrat.
Nabila shared something similar: "I covered myself properly with an orna to feel safe, but I still had to change my route home because of harassment."
The message is clear: No.
These incidents prove that harassment is caused by people's mindset, not by women's clothing.
The core message here is that we must build a society where women are respected for who they are, not judged by what they wear. Wearing an orna should be a personal choice, not an obligation.
It should move from being "just coverage" to being style and identity.
In Dhaka, we're already witnessing a cultural shift -- the orna being styled as a fashion statement and working into fusion wear while still holding onto its cultural significance.
Accelerating that shift, away from forced coverage and toward personal identity, is essential if we want to build a genuinely safe society for the women of Bangladesh.
Tanusree Dhar is a student writer interested in social issues, youth, gender, and voices and experiences that deserve to be heard.
