I am not considered to have a great taste in clothes. I have several goof ups to my credit, from believing that orange is a great color for a formal shirt, to thinking that bright red sandals are alright, because they’ll anyway become dull over time. And although the result of any time I spend shopping is often a source of laughter for others and regret for myself, I’ve always enjoyed the shopping itself.
My current problem can be traced to when I gave the only pair of jeans I had to the laundry near my hostel with a plea to return it earlier than usual. As it turned out, that was the last time I was to set eyes upon that pant. When I returned for the pant, the guy at the laundry (no, not the dhobi, this was just the front office guy, the washing was outsourced) blithely informed me that it was missing. I was very upset as I had wanted to wear it for my farewell, and although I eventually managed to take care of that part, I was determined to extract my pound of flesh from the laundry guy for losing my favourite (and only) denim.
So began the epic journey to claim compensation for the missing denim, as I ran into an unmoving bureaucracy. Despite being a business establishment with a front office no larger than a few square feet, the laundry had a complicated procedure to process claims, designed to wear down would be claimants. I persevered though, and was finally rewarded with half the cost of my denim.
Cut to the more recent past, when I went out to buy a replacement denim. The previous time was no big deal- there was only the one design that fitted me, and I liked it, so all was well. But this time around, I learnt the intricacies of jean-shopping the hard way.
As before I just scouted for something I liked and fitted me. I found to my horror no such creation existed. I didnt particularly like any design, so I just checked for something that was comfortable and didnt look too bad. Even this simple criterion didnt yield any results. Anything that was the right size at the waist, tended to be proportionately large everywhere else too, so that onlookers might have been forgiven for thinking I was standing in a blue barrel upto my waist.Several hours later, I conceded defeat, and picked up a pant that I found uncomfortably tight, but which was a major visual improvement.But at the end of it, I’m not sure it was the right tradeoff, as comfortable usage of the pant would require me to shed a few kilos.
So, here I am, after a long walk on the treadmill, eyes misty, as I think about my old denim, which -magically, it would seem- fitted me well without the need for any weight loss programs, and yet was one of my few clothes that escaped ridicule. Sigh! They dont make it like that anymore..