Tales to tell
There are many
stories to tell of the past day, all bringing some perspective of things in
India as a foreigner might experience them.
Friday was a
half-day, we covered a topic I was quite familiar with, afterwards I wondered
if we had just breezed through something we could have spent more time on, but
it did not appear I could be as engaged. I was also beginning to feel that I
needed to get out to see a bit of New Delhi, the triangle of hotel, training
centre and church hardly offered the picture that makes for Incredible India.
However, in the
same vein, one of the elements of my kind of tourism is to understand the
people, appreciate how they live and maybe comment on the similarities and
differences with my experiences and other observations.
Masks are needed
Having left on the
bus after lunch, I got to the hotel literally exhausted; I wanted to get a nap
which I did. Then it was time to go to the tailors to fit out the suits being
made for me. When in Asia, one must always avail oneself of the luxury of
bespoke tailoring with quality materials at a fraction of prices at home.
Since we were going
by auto rickshaw, I decided it was wise to get a face mask, from a surgical
perspective, they are disposal but in reality, they are reusable. I got a few
just in case.
Pressed to dress
As we got to the
tailor’s time was wasted on trying to sell us other stuff we did not need; I
was firm in my rejection of this distraction asking him to get the suits over
for our fitting as there were 2 of us there for the purpose.
We probably spent
another 15 minutes there before our urgency made the suits appear, meanwhile I
sat with my palm to my forehead and one of the ladies in the shop said it was a
bad omen. It was frustrating enough not to care about cultural differences with
their lackadaisical attitude to customer service.
For all the luxury
in the shop, there was no changing room, the lady attendants had to leave the
shop for us to change and check the fit of the clothes.
Not my stripes
The moment I saw my
suit I knew it was not the material I had ordered for many reasons. I most wear
pin-stripe suits but have never ever liked double pin-stripes of different
colours. No matter how bad the lighting was, there was no way I would have
missed the second pin-stripe that became obvious on sighting my suit.
I was forcefully
vehement enough about it but to insult me the more, the tailor suggested I
order another suit to the material I really wanted. Now, my colleagues thought
the suit was suits me, maybe it does – it is not all that bad, it is just that
it would not have been my choice in so many innumerable instances.
To reinforce the
fact that the material had been changed, the receipt booklet was full of
samples of cloth for other orders but nothing was ever pinned to my receipt in
the book. The simple lesson is, if ordering a bespoke suit from material, always
ask for a sample to keep and later compare if disputes arise.
My trainer told me
there have been many instances of switching material and underhand practices by
tailors trainees have visited, he suggested we ply more sophisticated outlets
like Raymonds.
Not ermine by far
This evening I went
to pick up my suit and once again, the hard sell started, I wasn’t playing ball
as I had my suits packaged with two pairs of trousers as one should always do when
buying suits.
A new consignment
of material had arrived and it all still in the wrappings, the tailor could not
resist another pitch when he suggested he had material very much like my
stripped trousers. As he laid the cloth on the counter, my eye caught the
original factory markings in chalk-ish ink, as I tried to read the markings the
lady assistant began to fluff the cloth in order to conceal the markings.
I allowed her to do
her thing as I was being told it was the best material on the market, then, I
reach for the side where the markings were, obviously, they could not grab the
cloth from me when I turned it over and it read – Polyester & Nylon – I suppose
those materials have a way of acting like Kashmir to the eye, to the touch and
to the hearing of the trader’s spiel.
Knowledge is power
On seeing the
label, I just stepped back and said to my colleague, we had to leave. The
tailor also realised I had gained knowledge as he then asked if the material
was saleable and I said it could be as we agreed that everyone has their notion
of quality – the truth being, quality is not all that it is sold out to be.
Bales of material
on the shelves have already had the factory markings cut off, since it is
branded in the end of the roll of cloth, the unwitting customer left to read
the braided counterfeit markings the line the edges of the cloth pretending to
something it is not.
Once again, a
bargain in a backwater with the story that they also do it for ambassadors does
not mean ambassadors know much about quality material and you are soon sucked
into a tale of satisfied customers lured by the vicious circle of word-of-mouth
to the confidence trickster’s lair – the silver tongue of selling rags as
ermine continues to rake in the bucks, many none the wiser of the fact they
have been had.
My consolation, it
looks good, it is bespoke and I am not a Nigerian politician dressed up to the
nines in every luxury label bought on stolen money.