Column

In two weeks it will be Fashion week in Mumbai, and again I am getting nervous just by the thought of it.

The thing about fashion week is that there are too many of them: no sooner have you finished reading about the war between Tarun Tahiliani and Rohit Bal, and who threw a drink on whom backstage (in the old days it was Sanjay Khan who used to throw drinks on Daboo Kapoor — today it’s fashion designers — I suppose that’s what is meant by reform), when around comes a new fashion week and what I can only describe as a muchness of much.

There will firstly be hundreds of press releases followed by at least a dozen controversies — all I suspect made up by the people behind the Fashion Week. Then, Anil Chopra will send smses to all his friends telling them to keep a certain day free — usually it’s to the Grand Finale if you happen to be on his A-list, if not then another lesser day will be allotted to you.

A week before the fashion week, various designers will descend on the city and begin giving interviews. They will say, “Red is the new black” or “I make clothes for real women” or “Embellishment is dead” and every one will nod as if they understand exactly what they mean.

Then, of course, there will be the parties around fashion week. Aarti and Kailash will throw one, which is always nice because they serve great pani puris on their terrace. There will be parties at Lush and Vie Lounge and perhaps even at the Oberoi Regal Room.

Every one at these parties (including Aarti and Kailash’s) will look as if they walked off the ramp wearing clothes made by Arjun Khanna. Besides the people who look like they walked off the ramp, you will meet Ashok Salian, Anish Trivedi, Monica Vazir Ali and Nirmal Zhaveri all wearing their own clothes.

Everyone at these parties will ask you, “which shows are you going to?” And you will mumble something about trying to catch Rina Dhaka’s or Rajesh Partap Singh’s to show you too are fashion-literate. Then you will say, “Red is the new black” and every one will nod in agreement.

All this will go on for a week and then the actual Fashion Week will start. Most likely, like the times before, it will be held at the NCPA where, as opposed to the rest of the year when you would bump into only people who looked like they were relatives of Jamshyd Bhabha, now there will be giraffe-like girls and hair-gelled boys wearing clothes that look designed by Rocky S.

You will enter the portals of the Bhabha auditorium where nice Parsi ladies usually nod off to Bach, and push your way to your seat. There will be loud music playing and all the auditorium lights will be on — and you will feel a little like a patient etherized upon a table (Eliot’s words not mine).

And having fought your way to your seat, and found it, you will look up and there in the front row you will see Queenie Dhody, Laila Lamba, Anju Taraporewala, Kajal Anand and Avanti Birla chewing gum ferociously and taking notes.

Now you can see why the thought of Fashion Week makes me so nervous!

s_malavika@dnaindia.net