Come again

This evening I braved the streets and managed, with the help of two generous students, to accomplish one of my Indian shopping goals: tailored suit. We pulled up outside this plush looking glass building on a supremely dusty street. The sign read “Raymond’s Seconds”, which seems a bizarre for a bespoke tailor. Inside, I was lead upstairs to a vast room of wall-to-wall fabric shelves and mirrors. The guy behind the counter starts billowing cloth at me across a vast table, while another guy clips a fake shirt front around my neck, and from behind a little waiter guy appears with a selection of chilled drinks on a tray. Sweet.

After paying, I was gliding out the shop with fairly strong post-purchase euphoria, amid six or seven well-wishing assistants, when I swear, on solemn oath, that one of them said “come again”. It’s just about conceivable that it was a postmodern-Umberto-Eco-have-your-cake-and-eat-it “come again”, but I am choosing to believe not.

Tailoring was amazingly inexpensive, but I ended up spending a small fortune on cloth. I felt a little guilty until I started calculating what the cost would have been in London, and realised that I had made an obscene saving. I can’t work out whether I’m screwing this developing economy over, or doing it a favour, but whichever it is I shall look rather smart doing it.

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.