Paradigm shift in personal fashion

I wore trousers to the office today! Black with pinstripes and teamed with a tunic and scarf. From all the compliments I got, I believe I accessorized correctly. (Ahem, ahem...patting myself on the back, there...and no, I didn't wear red stilletos...the pic just looked yummy enough to post!)

So why is this a big deal, you wonder? Well, because it's the first time I've ever worn trousers in a looooo-ooong time. And boy, was I nervous! But it seems to have gone down well. Phew!

When I was growing up, my father thought trousers were unfeminine and unbecoming for women. (Don't comment on that...it's a long story.) Besides, I was (and still am) fat, so I thought I looked better in skirts and that safe harbor of Indian fashion: salwar-kameez suits.

I had two pairs of trousers when I was around 4-5 years old. Then Mum got me a tailored denim jean-and-jacket set for my sixth birthday and after that, I had a pair of slacks as part of my winter school uniform in the fifth grade. (They changed the uniform the following year.) That was it, until 1999. I'd been married a year or so around then and it got really cold (we were in New Delhi then). I needed something like thick jeans for the night shifts I did, and even then, I teamed it up with a knee-length woollen sweater.

I outgrew those jeans after having my son and put on some (okay, a lot) more weight after that. So it's been just salwar-kameez and skirts, mostly long ones. No sarees, even. Mum says I look 10 years older in that outfit so it's a strict no-no. This is especially important because my mother is very pretty, not fat, and looks 10 years younger than she actually is. Oh yes, and she has a great sense of style. :)

Anyway, so here I am, this morning, wearing formal trousers to work. Feeling terribly conscious but what the heck...if I don't start to try to look younger at 34, I might as well call for sackcloth and ashes and begin to mourn my lost youth. Darned if I do that. So here's wishing I find more trousers in my size (and get used to wearing them).

ps: one advantage of wearing trousers is that I walk around with my gut sucked in...maybe my paunch (of course I have one) will shrink that way?

pps: here's what my son had to say after looking me up and down: "Hmm....you're not thin but this makes you look thinner than you are." Why, thank you, my boy. Just don't say that to your girlfriend when you finally get one. :-P

Image from Freerangestock

Mommy vs. Mahatma

The Brat decided he wanted to dress up as Mahatma Gandhi for his fancy dress contest at school.

ME (mentally drawing up a list of things I would have to borrow and buy to get the poppet in costume): Why?

BRAT: He was the leader of ALL the freedom fighters. Hmmm....well, not ALL, but common sense rules that you don't start explaining politics and history to a 5-year-old.

BRAT (continuing with smug, so-there look): And he's on ALL our money. He's the most famous. That's why!" Gen Z knows an opportunity when they see one.

ME: I'll put a stocking on your head...you don't have to shave it off.

BRAT: Gandhi didn't wear a stocking on his head. He didn't have hair. So I can't have hair. Can we go to the barber now?

ME: You'll regret this later, your hair won't grow back for 3 months.

BRAT (arms folded in defiance): What's regret?

What indeed!

List of things to get/do in the next 4 days: dig out 3 clean, white dupattas, buy one pair of seriously old-fashioned Bata slippers, bargain for round glasses from the optician down the road (Rs 275, after M-I-L style haggling), borrow stick handle of old mop from Mum, search for brown sticky tape to make it look like a walking stick, delve through piles of make-up to extract kajal to make a moustache, talcum powder to make the moustache look grey, paper and tape to make a watch, return early from office to make trip to the barber the evening before the event...phew!

End Result:
1. One hour of listening to introductions, slogans and what-am-I-doing-here looks from 7 Gandhis, 11 Nehrus (the costume is easier), 13 Rani(s) Laxmibai-with-doll-tied-at-the-back, 6 Kittur Rani(s) Chenamma, 4 assorted freedom fighters, and 17 Subhash Chandra Boses (the costume can be hired from just about everywhere.)

2. Consolation prize for the poppet. ("He forgot to say his name during the introduction," informed the teacher. "But you already told everybody who I was!" replied the brat. He had a point, but lost a few anyway and slid down the list.

3. Consolation prize for me too: Freedom from fighting with him to comb his hair early in the morning.

Moral of the Experience: One less squabble a day for the next three months is worth the effort.

(This was originally posted on September 26, 2007 on an earlier blog which has now been deleted.)

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