After one particular visit, I never wore those shorts again during that trip to the USA. However, having spent money on them—though it was my sons' expense—I carefully brought them back to India. Almost everyone returning from a trip abroad, no offense intended, seems to come back with a collection of these “pants cut in half,” as I like to call them. You can spot them strutting around, proudly displaying this new piece of fashionable clothing with an air of nonchalance. You’ll often see them during morning walks, paired with pure white socks and even purer white walking shoes.

I’m no different. I, too, wore them during my morning walks, though never otherwise—who knows, someone might pelt stones at you! And immediately, people recognized me, the same question on their lips: “When did you come back from abroad, Sir?” or “Which country did you visit?” There was no need to wonder how they figured it out—it was obvious. For a fleeting moment, I hoped that someone might think the shorts looked good on me or that I looked good in them. Either way, I would have been pleased. But that never happened. People were at least kind enough not to point out the harsh truth—that the shorts suited me as well as a two-dimensional photograph with heavy editing: not at all.

Nearly 23 years later, on my recent visit to the USA, circumstances colluded and ganged up against me once again. I reluctantly donned the shorts, with a far-off hope—like the horizon—wondering if I had finally grown up enough to deserve such attire. This time, it was during our much-anticipated trip to Hawaii. Hawaii and half-pants are inseparable, like twins, along with floral shirts, hats, caps, and chappals (as we fondly call them in India). In Chennai, chappals are God-sent for the hot weather, but in Hawaii, they make a style statement, perhaps made more fashionable by the variety of materials available today.

Swimming and I have always kept a safe parallel distance, ensuring that we never meet. But when you see thousands enjoying the resort’s swimming pool, an external force of greed, desire, and adventure nudges you to try. So, I donned my half-pants and a waterproof t-shirt—there was no way I would expose my torso with its awkward muscles and protruding bones to the fit and modern crowd. My method of swimming involved my two sons holding my hands on either side, my unsteady wife’s hands on my shoulders, and my grandkids and daughter-in-law cheering me on. I cautiously placed my feet on the slippery pool bottom and waddled like a duck. As soon as the water reached my chest, I shrieked, and my sons swiftly guided me back to the safety of the shallow end. My swimming was complete. I would then sit on the steps, my feet dangling in the water. In the hot pool, this was even more pleasurable, with the warm water gently massaging my aching back.

I can now proudly proclaim that I swam in Hawaii.

Off we went to the beach—Hawaii is made up of small islands encircled by beautiful beaches. As my fun-loving grandkids, who had been enjoying themselves in the pool, observed me, they shouted, “Oh! Look, it’s Thatha—Grandad—Version 2.0! Quick, take a photograph!” Who in the world would be interested in taking my picture in half-pants? So, adopting a stylish pose, I stood there, once solo and once with all the boys. I could post those pictures here, but why should I risk offending anyone?

Continued in 94. Sartorial Suffocations - Part 3