A Rip Off that Ripped Off.

Just yesterday, I was trying to update the phone book on my mobile as there were far too many numbers which were either defunct or belonging to people whose specific purpose is over. Thus I came across the only celebrity number in my list and pondered as to the need the number will have for me in future. I was sure there will not arise any need for that number, but then one can never say for if that be the case, how did the number find a place in my scheme of things? Anyway I have retained it for the time being and will consider deleting it after having a word with my niece for it was she who was responsible for the number finding a place in my mobile phone.
The number belongs to a so called top designer of Chennai and the story of how I found myself in his studio makes interesting reading. I may sound over enthusiastic when I write about my niece Preetha. But then I have to be because she is one over enthusiastic person. The summer of 2008 saw her spend two months with me in India. This was something she wanted to do and so she made the journey by herself and gave us the pleasure of her company. She is a vivacious youngster so interested in all that happens around. She loves Chennai and she loves all the people who frequent the house. She enjoys meeting people and she loves getting to know them. She totally involves herself in all the happenings and to put it in a nut shell, it was a wonderful treat having her here with us.
Most of her needs were simple and things I could fulfill. However there was this one thing she wanted and for that I was at a total loss, not knowing whom to turn to. She wanted to make a party dress for her upcoming Junior Prom party and since she was in India, she thought it a good idea to have one tailor made with an Indian touch. Now the tailors I know are my blouse and salwar suit tailors and both of them have no clue of anything beyond their expertise. I tried asking a couple of friends and they too were very vague of how to go about the same. Preetha felt that for the money she would spend in the US for an off the rack dress, she could get something personal and one of a kind from here. Finally we nailed the person whom we felt would have an idea of such matters. Our guess was correct and the said person had the names of a list of designers. Since it meant Greek and Latin to me, I told the friend that I would leave the choice to her. Thus on a Friday afternoon after fixing an appointment, the three of us went to the exclusive studio of the designer.
The studio was a three storey building and it was done up in a way that I did not think much about. It reminded me of pictures of boudoirs that I had seen in movies. The colours too were garish to go along with the boudoir theme. There were pictures of his star clients dressed in his creations and thus I came to know as to whom among the glitterati of Chennai turned to him to look their “best”. On the first floor was his office and we were ushered in by an assistant and there perched on the table was the designer. To me he seemed more a model for other designer products, what with a Gucci eyeglasses resting on his head and a designer belt to hold his designer jeans around his 24inches waist. The white shirt that he wore I would like to presume was his own creation, for isn’t it right to assume that a top designer will sport at least one piece of his own creation?
Had I been given a choice, I would have walked out of that studio at that point. But the only reason I stayed on was because I trusted my friend in these matters. Preetha at that point was so excited and thus without giving scope for looking around or making a decision, the dress was ordered. Measurements were taken and a date was given for the trial. I was happy, because by then my sister Latha would be in town and thus the responsibility would not be mine any more. Although we had set a limit on the cost, no questions were asked and thus we came out not knowing what we were in for.
On the trial day Latha too came along. The dress looked gorgeous, however it was not fitting and hence some alteration was called for. The designer was in a haste to catch a flight and thus we were left with his Mom to take care of our needs. The mother as advised by the son handed over a bill which exceeded our budget by more than a couple of thousands. Since the designer had left, there was no one we could question and thus came out paying the amount. At that point I felt like the prey in the spider’s web. The sweet talk and enthusiasm that was in plenty during our first trip had dissipated. One reason for this could be the fact that we were one time customers.
Preetha got over her initial shock at the cost and fortunately seemed happy at the outfit. She promised herself that she would lose some weight before her Prom date. The Prom was more than 6 months away and every now and then when we spoke the talk of the dress would come up. Thus the date of the Prom arrived and Preetha’s excitement knew no bounds. When the zip had to be fastened, it refused to budge and on using force the fastener just gave way. It seemed for a few minutes that total chaos reigned. Preetha was shattered and she had to in the eleventh hour look for an alternative. Latha who is very deft with her hands, saved the day and thus the evening went off without any wardrobe malfunction. I really wish that they would send the dress back, for then I could go and meet the designer. Although I have met him twice, I never had a conversation, for he may have thought me not worthy of his time. This would definitely be my chance to pin him down.
Preetha’s senior Prom is fast approaching; however she is dead sure about not ordering another outfit. The prêt a porter dresses though not personal are surely dependable. In the meantime I see pictures of the designer regularly in the papers and the latest one was of his birthday bash were he along with his famous clientele were posing in Victorian/Tudorian outfits. They looked ridiculous and I had a hearty laugh recollecting the story of the Emperor’s New Clothes.
PS. The number will be retained in order for me to have the last word.