Most of you would have read about the extreme joy and thrill of me buying my first suit. By the way, the Raymonds ad does not deliver on its promise….still no damsels. Anyway, earlier in the term, we had a tailor come to college and take measurements for suits for everyone. Now, I’m a little finicky when it comes to people like my tailor, barber and the works. ( All the signs of a spoilt millionare). The first thing that really put me off with this guy was the fact that he was pretty much staring at me and yelling out measurements to his assistant who quite feverishly noted every detail down.
Rule One – you don’t look at me and guess the size. I am not a prize ham at a fair where you look and guess the weight, winner takes home the closest guess. I kept telling him to please take measurements and to stop sizing me up. But to no avail… “Waist…44….Legs 41….”. Needless to say, my mind is racing with a picture of me in the suit that he was going to have delivered. And when the suit came last week, well….let us put it this way, I was not disappointed. Not only was the colour a hideous shade of blue (a shade worn by the guy who takes orders at the AC section of an all veg restaurant in Chennai), but the material just felt so repelling against my skin. The fitting of the coat brought back memories of the horrid school blazer which one was expected to wear, and even that seemed like sunshine in front of this audacity for a suit. No style, nothing. A plain old boring suit. The sleeves were way too short, the shoulders tight. The only saving grace was that the buttons managed to come together…obviously with a lot of me holding my breath in and turning purple in the face.
The trousers were a sham. The waist barely made any room for expansion. Now, think of all those fancy seminars I might attend and the luscious buffet being served. Yours truly cannot tuck in as…oh well…the tailor decided he’s eaten enough for a life time. The waist region was so small I could forget trying to pull off any style by standing around with my hands in my pockets looking suave. I barely managed to get the pinkie finger inside the pockets. The pants needless to say were quite short and made me resemble the great Raj Kapoor from Shri 420. The one good thing the pants did was accentuate my rear. I was so afraid to sit fearing that …..oh well…you get the pretty details.
Here comes the killer part. When I wear the suit and stand in front of the tailor, he goes ‘ekdum first class….’. I was hoping he was being sarcastic, but no, He actually thought it looked good on me. When I began pointing out the flaws, he goes, (translated from hindi)’ Sir, wear it for some time, you’ll get used to it.’ “USED TO IT…..” was he delusional? I can’t eat, I can’t breath, I definitely don’t look my usual handsome self, and I was to get used to it? How about you wrap me in some bandages and dump me in a coffin in the middle of Egypt…I could get used to that too. I told him that he needed to get realistic and increase the size. Guess what the reply was, ‘ Sir, I think you have been eating too much since the time I took the measurement…”
WHAT THE F…..
One minute I’m all dashing, the next minute I’m getting a weight-loss lecture from a two bit mickey mouse tailor. What has the world come to? I’ve heard of double takes but this was ridiculous. I’m standing there with the trousers barely allowing any breathing space and I’m being given a lecture on weight loss.