Clothes and the Man

I have never been very fastidious about clothes and dressing. It might be an influence of my schooldays. There was no school uniform though careless and shabby dressing was not allowed. Our principal, a lumbering giant of a man with bulging eyes, also saw to it that the pupils did not get sartorially ambitious.  

I have heard from my seniors that he once warned a student not to sport a puff hairstyle, but the student ignored it blissfully. The principal caught him by the hair without warning and snipped off the offending puff with a pair of scissors and dumped it in the unfortunate student’s palm. Such instances were spoken of in hushed tones.

Another thing that was not allowed was ‘drainpipe’ trousers as they were then called. The form fitting trousers were a strict no, no. Nor were pointed shoes allowed. If caught wearing them strict action would follow.  The students made it a point not to give offence to the principal as he was very handy with the cane. He took a sadistic pleasure in asking students to bend down for a swift couple of the best.

I once bought a very elaborately designed shoe which also had pointed toes.  Naturally I never wore it to school. It was an aberration for me as I was not very fastidious about how my feet were shod.

Trousers were preceded by half pants. The age of half pants lasted from the nursery till quite a while in school. I always thought it was a bit unfair that little boys had to wear half pants. There was no point in not being allowed to wear them. There was a transitory period when both half pants and trousers were allowed. Then came the day when I could quit half pants and graduate to trousers permanently. I felt grown up at last.

I also liked suits, but they could be worn only in winter. Every year before Christmas when I was a little boy I would receive a new suit. I derived a great deal of pleasure in wearing them.  Later in life I did not much care for them.  I also realised that suits for a little boy did not cost much, but for adults it did.

At our Delhi office where I was twice posted, dressing was a serious affair for journalists. There talk about clothes was quite fashionable, even among men. It forced me to rearrange my meagre wardrobe. A blazer at least was in order and I had one stitched. During winter I alternated between sweater, jacket and the blazer. Beyond that I did not aspire.

In the growing years there was also the dhoti and the kurta pyjamas. The dhoti was something that I found troublesome and after much trial and error I was able to get the hang of it. The dhoti was a formal wear at weddings for me and they did not come often thankfully. The kurta pyjama was more comfortable. During my college days I wore them a lot.

During a short stint in Islamabad, I had to stick to formal clothes because I met a lot of diplomats all the time. Parties were thrown by diplomats quite often where informal dress was unthinkable. I also acquired a taste for fine dining. But it was a short tenure and I was soon posted back in Kolkata.

Early in my professional career a lot of official lunching and dining was in order. In such cases, though sartorial elegance was not required, dressing modestly did.

Whatever I wore outside was in stark contrast to what I wore at home. There I let myself go totally. A comfortable sarong and a vest were in order. I hastily changed when I had company.

My uncle and aunt who used to visit each Sunday would criticise be about my dishabille. But it fell on deaf ears. I was always an introvert and dressing had little meaning for me. When a lady friend came to visit me at home one day, she too made it a point to say primly that my dressing was just too bad. But though I admired her a great deal and still do, it had little impact.

I used to be quite amazed during my college days when a few friends I had in the neighbourhood, dressed up each evening when we met for the daily chat.  To me it seemed uncomfortable to be stuffily dressed up and nowhere to go.

I forgot to mention that in between, I grew a beard. It helped that I did not have to shave, but it was more tiring that stray hair had to be trimmed daily. It was a short hirsute phase.

Then my hairline started receding. I therefore got rid of the superfluous hair altogether one day and settled for a completely bald look. It was met with startled looks at home and in the office, but it gradually receded in perception as an eyesore.

With retirement I threw all caution to the winds. Since I was stuck indoors most of the time, the clothes did not matter. The advertisements on shirts and trousers did not interest me. They never had in the first place.

I only thing that I regularly do now from totally going to seed is to shave each day.

It is back to the Stone Age for me.