bls31
February 20th, 2015, 10:46 AM
THE DRESS CODE
I had an invite for a conference, a black suite and tie event. An outsider to the elk, I leave my black suit hanging in the cupboard, reckoning that cream would make me too conspicuous among the black coats; as a compromise, I choose the one in grey, Driving down the expressway, from Greater Noida, manoeuvring the car carefully through the heavy, office going, morning traffic, arrive early, by 10.30. at the venue, for the 11 A M event.
.
Stopped at the barrier, way ahead of the imposing steel gate embedded in the high periphery wall, by a bevy of combat ready looking Guards, I pull down the window glass and give my name. Name checked from the list, a black suited young man , who small conversation later turns out to be a management student at the university, students of Management Streams are required to dress in black suits to distinguish them from the majority tribe of the Jeans clad, backpack carrying riff-raff, perusing other courses, jumps in and on the passenger seat to guide me to the venue and help park.
At the registration Desk, I am welcomed by some familiar friendly faces from earlier visits who help me register; provide the ID tag and the delegates kit.
At the pre-event waiting hall, the early birds, many a familiar faces, those in high demand as distinguish audience or expert speakers, on the Delhi conference/seminar circuits, especially during the packed schedules of Dec- Jan had gathered: circulating , enjoying tea and small snacks from the trays of the passing waiters. The hall is crackling with high voltage energy, with networking, card swapping, and technology talk in full swing.
Coming to the Dress Code, there is a gaggle of young girl volunteers all those of jeans , back pack and mobile- in -hand generation, finding themselves, for the formal occasion in saree, possibly on loan, from mother , yet to acquire the required skill to carry it , an art by itself, feeling: self-conscious, a bit awkward and uncomfortable in the unfamiliar garb.
The Corporate Awardees, in black suits and ties jauntily climb up the steps to the dais to receive the awards, say a few words of thanks, pose for the regulation photo do also have among them a few rebels, acting brave and following the new trend in ‘Power Dressing’, conspectus in their black suit and white shirt, sans the ubiquities Tie, with a; ‘Celebrities don’t care attitude.’
It was interesting to watch the changing dress code, the young generation, followers of their own code, back packs and Jeans., the management students, already attired in the corporate uniform and the girls though more comfortable in jeans an tops , trying to cope with a saree. Saree, for the uninitiated is just a six yards of cloth of the Hand Spun Cottons of Indra Gandhi, the Kngivarams of Rekha, the Chiffons of Siridevi and my own late wife’s collection, in various other fabrics, that can be wound around the body like a bedroll or draped stylishly by the skilled , morphing it into the most elegant of a dress. Also tthe Corporate rebels, convinced in their mind that they have arrived and care two hoots for the conventional, breaking the code. Finally my own dress code, combining the suite with the Fedora, more for protecting my bald palate from the elements of nature and in the process making an unintended style statement.
I had an invite for a conference, a black suite and tie event. An outsider to the elk, I leave my black suit hanging in the cupboard, reckoning that cream would make me too conspicuous among the black coats; as a compromise, I choose the one in grey, Driving down the expressway, from Greater Noida, manoeuvring the car carefully through the heavy, office going, morning traffic, arrive early, by 10.30. at the venue, for the 11 A M event.
.
Stopped at the barrier, way ahead of the imposing steel gate embedded in the high periphery wall, by a bevy of combat ready looking Guards, I pull down the window glass and give my name. Name checked from the list, a black suited young man , who small conversation later turns out to be a management student at the university, students of Management Streams are required to dress in black suits to distinguish them from the majority tribe of the Jeans clad, backpack carrying riff-raff, perusing other courses, jumps in and on the passenger seat to guide me to the venue and help park.
At the registration Desk, I am welcomed by some familiar friendly faces from earlier visits who help me register; provide the ID tag and the delegates kit.
At the pre-event waiting hall, the early birds, many a familiar faces, those in high demand as distinguish audience or expert speakers, on the Delhi conference/seminar circuits, especially during the packed schedules of Dec- Jan had gathered: circulating , enjoying tea and small snacks from the trays of the passing waiters. The hall is crackling with high voltage energy, with networking, card swapping, and technology talk in full swing.
Coming to the Dress Code, there is a gaggle of young girl volunteers all those of jeans , back pack and mobile- in -hand generation, finding themselves, for the formal occasion in saree, possibly on loan, from mother , yet to acquire the required skill to carry it , an art by itself, feeling: self-conscious, a bit awkward and uncomfortable in the unfamiliar garb.
The Corporate Awardees, in black suits and ties jauntily climb up the steps to the dais to receive the awards, say a few words of thanks, pose for the regulation photo do also have among them a few rebels, acting brave and following the new trend in ‘Power Dressing’, conspectus in their black suit and white shirt, sans the ubiquities Tie, with a; ‘Celebrities don’t care attitude.’
It was interesting to watch the changing dress code, the young generation, followers of their own code, back packs and Jeans., the management students, already attired in the corporate uniform and the girls though more comfortable in jeans an tops , trying to cope with a saree. Saree, for the uninitiated is just a six yards of cloth of the Hand Spun Cottons of Indra Gandhi, the Kngivarams of Rekha, the Chiffons of Siridevi and my own late wife’s collection, in various other fabrics, that can be wound around the body like a bedroll or draped stylishly by the skilled , morphing it into the most elegant of a dress. Also tthe Corporate rebels, convinced in their mind that they have arrived and care two hoots for the conventional, breaking the code. Finally my own dress code, combining the suite with the Fedora, more for protecting my bald palate from the elements of nature and in the process making an unintended style statement.