Kishore Singh: Out-fitted in multi-brand India

Now that the promise of a crisp Delhi winter is upon us, I thought it is time to refurbish the old wardrobe, made necessary because the gym had knocked off a couple of inches of flab. It was something I hoped to achieve during an extended lunch break or two, finding a store in a neighbourhood mall to stock up on essentials, made easier surely because of the vast choice available in international and local menswear. But having lost touch over the years with stores and brands, I knew I would require professional guidance.

I bought a pile of men’s lifestyle magazines for reference and pored over their fashion pages, though strangely they seemed to consist mostly of pictures of women in very little clothing. The men, when they appeared in the style spreads, seemed to wear only ripped jeans and hoodies, which were hardly age- or office-appropriate in my case. The ads featured clothes that seemed suited only for models with synthetic hair and plastic pouts, but their shiny suits would probably make someone who looks like me look like a sleazy salesman.

“Shop for you,” my son hooted with laughter when I roped him in, “there’s nothing in the stores for people your age” — the middle-aged indictment turned out to be true when I dragged him off with me nevertheless. We looked our way through packed aisles only to discover that all trousers came in a vast variety of checks more suitable as table mats than pants for gentlemen; shirts that were apparently meant to be worn two together and open all the way down to the navel, hardly ideal for the chill; as for shoes, they cost the earth and followed the basic rule that the price went up in proportion to the level of discomfort — so you paid a fortune to have your toes suffer excruciating pain. As for the trench coats that seem to be all the trend this season, they appear more suited for the sleet in Europe than the sunshine in north India.

When I wanted to try out a bandgala, my son decided I should pay a visit to Canali, but the Rs 1-lakh tag proved a deterrent. A Dior wallet I liked was the equivalent of a ticket to London, which is where my son suggested I should go shop in the first place, and where he wouldn’t mind accompanying me. I was less charmed by Savile Row though because a Hawes & Curtis shirt for which my daughter had saved her pocket money, turned out not to have cuff holes or buttons on one sleeve (the other sleeve, though, has both). In the end, it was teenage brand Zara where I found the only trousers that fit to size, and if you spot me in camouflage hoodies this winter, it’s because it’s the apparel of choice on clothing shelves.

Meanwhile, having spent several weekends and a couple of working days searching for clothes, I’m still without a full wardrobe in multi-brand India. Having wasted time, and with the winter likely to be short, I decided that it was best to go the way of my father and get measured for clothes in the old-fashioned way. It would entail travelling to Jodhpur for the bandgala, to Jaipur for the jodhpurs, and within much of Delhi looking for establishments that have retained a tailor — now, of course, promoted to the more exalted rank of “master-cutter”. Having discovered the best haberdasheries through word-of-mouth, I have found that they no longer offer tailoring services but “customised bespoke tailoring” — at a cost, alas.