Kishore Singh: Couture week frenzy

I had reluctantly agreed to moderate a talk I thought likely to put its audience to sleep, but even so I balked at backing out at the last moment because my wife insisted on our joint appearance at a fashion show. The following evening, by coincidence, I was slated to be part of a panel discussion, but my wife told me I was a boring speaker, so it would be a blessing for the poor blighters should I absent myself - because, of course, our marathon ramp attendance was du jour.

"Remind me why these fashion shows are important," I asked my wife, who looked mortified at such pertinence. "This isn't any ordinary fashion-vashion," she said, "it's couture," pronouncing it in a way that I must refrain from sharing on account that it might get me into trouble, though it did make me giggle at the time and earned me a rebuke. It being couture week, we also had to give up plans for partying with the Dubashs, which was a pity since they are excellent hosts with whisky on the tap and a personal chef at every table.
 

On the other hand, in the midst of the couture madness, the frenzy of people made it seem like we were surrounded by the great unwashed. The airconditioning coped poorly, and because everything started late, it resulted in hungry people snapping at each other. Respite came by way of escape to the bar, but martinis and margaritas sit uneasily with a sense of urgency. We'd made allowance for a delay of 45 minutes, but what if we missed the show? Given how short each designer's event was, no more than 15 minutes at most, entering late and catching the tail end of the action was not an option.

On the first evening, with only Sabyasachi's gig on our agenda, the clan met up midtown for a sundowner, planning on being a half-hour late. Therefore we were annoyed at the further ordeal we had to endure before being permitted in. Having smartened up, the following evening we planned our departure a little later for Rahul Mishra's show, but still found ourselves waiting in a melee. In the time in between his show and Gaurav Gupta's, we disappeared to the hotel bar. But our guests, who were as keen as my wife to be in on the action, broke up our party to check on the proceedings, which seemed to be taking longer than they had anticipated. We returned to the bar, allowing for another rapid round, before wading through the crowds to find our allotted seats occupied by someone else. Before things could be smoothened out, angry words were exchanged, as a result nobody wanted to sit next to us. And it was so late by the time we left, the only restaurants open were in Pandara Park, where only a certain kind of people go to eat and I am not one of them, so I'm not saying that we went there, though we did.

Having learned the distinction between wedding trousseaus and couture - explained at length by my daughter - I figured I'd had my fill of both couture and fashion. Which is why I was glad when banter with my wife earned me an edict banning me from further social outings. So, as she schmoozes amidst the glitterati, I am happy to be writing this from the privacy of my own home, with a drink by my side, from where no one is dislodging me in a hurry.