Don't ask me how, but when Sonia's daughter was to be engaged, I found myself "volunteered" to introduce her to a couturier I knew slightly, and before you could say "zardozi", I was a fixture at her fittings where the conversation was enough to make a lesser man blush. Not because of the intimate nature of the relationship between the garment and the models (yep, the rich don't try on their own clothes, they have others do it for them) but because the bride-to-be couldn't locate any "value" in it. And before you jump to the same assumption as I did, in fashion-speak this means the bridal costume "wasn't expensive enough", so could the designer at least replace the crystal and glass beads with diamonds and certified gemstones? The cost of the garment? Let's just say, I'd booked what I thought was a costly apartment that pales in comparison before the price of a mere lehenga-choli.
It was a week like that. On Monday, an acquaintance insisted that I join in a farmhouse recce because he was sussing around for an alternate home in which to host his "weekend parties". I saw more swimming pools with gilded mermaids, fairytale grottos, party pavilions and "underwater" bars than I'd ever seen outside of design magazines. But if my friend found them "cheap", it wasn't because his design sensibilities were offended but because his fiscal ones were in question. Last heard, he'd extended his area of search to include Thailand.
On such a day this week, I went out for lunch with a visiting friend who said it was all right to have a whisky, or two, or three, "because it's night time in America", so could the steward fetch him "the most expensive, double quick?" He ordered crab meat because it was the priciest dish on the menu even though he was vegetarian - it being Tuesday - and I wasn't up to it because hadn't we already ticked off most courses on the menu and some the chef agreed to prepare for us "specially"?
On the day after, and the next, there were a couple of "meetings" over "a casual drink" that demanded the sommelier serve us the best wines and prize champagnes, even though everyone preferred harder spirits while the reds "breathed" unappreciated. It was a week when I was invited to join a private cruise for which I was expected to pick up my tab for an amount I can't say aloud because it would embarrass me to think someone had the idea I had that kind of spare cash. It was a week when a fond father admonished his son in my hearing about wanting to fly a bunch of friends to Greece for his birthday "when there's a recession on". His olive branch to the pampered brat who wanted the ostentatious party: "I'll give them first-class seats on a commercial flight, but you can't use the private plane unless it's for work."
And when Sonia's "NRI family" descended for her daughter's engagement and wanted help with shopping for some "gifts-shifts", my recommendations were met with a wall of silence. They'd already made "reservations" with personal shoppers, and stylists descended on their hotel with the kind of stuff I'd never before seen in their showrooms, and the assistants earned themselves gratuities far beyond their salaries. Naturally, their suites were "the best" in monetary spend, if not in class. Didn't I say, it was a week like that…
Disclaimer: These are personal views of the writer. They do not necessarily reflect the opinion of www.business-standard.com or the Business Standard newspaper
