The Clothes Maketh the Man, and So We're Doomed

I went to Amir Adnan's shop at Park Towers yesterday in search of a nice kurta for Ryz to wear to the engagement.

The lady at the store must have been the most helpful I've ever come across. I went to her and asked for tissue paper as I had eaten in the car on the way and didn't have any tissue on me to wipe my hands before touching the fabrics. She gave me some paper and I told her exactly what kind of kurta I was looking for, my preferences in color, style and fabric. She attentively heard all that I had to say and helped me choose from the subsequent choices that I had.

I really liked her. She wasn't extravagant or showy in her attention towards me and my needs. Not too subdued and not too interfering. Just right. That sounds like something Goldilocks would say.

Moving on.

I found a beautiful black one that had a textured loom as well as a bit of embroidery on the collar band.
Once I decided that I wanted to purchase just that, I asked her whether a white shalwar would look good with it, because the textured fabric almost made me want to get something black as a bottom.

Stay with me here now, this gets mighty tricky: she said that I could get a black shlouser to go with it.

A shlouser.

I calmly told her that I think she made that word up as we spoke. She smiled and told me that it was indeed a word. Apparently a shlouser is a cross between a shalwar and trouser (as its name so aptly suggests).

I innocently asked her why they (whoever these fashion kings may be) didn't name it a talwar. She laughed and said that it would be too dangerous a word.

Mad nation. Nice saleslady. But mad nation, nevertheless.