I completely forgot to mention a sudden fad that emerged in the late 80s—a particular outfit for men called the “Safari Suit.” It was everywhere. From top executives to the average office-goer, everyone seemed to be wearing it. It became a favorite for interviews, featuring a top and bottom made from the same thick material. It was essentially a pair of pants combined with what looked like a mix between a half-sleeved shirt and a half-coat. How else to describe it? It looked good at the time, probably because our eyes and minds got accustomed to it and liked it. The same thing happened with the bizarre-looking bell-bottoms and “elephant pants” (is that the right name?). Even actors wore them until they faded away.

Safari Suits had their moment too, sticking around for nearly two decades, but eventually, they also lost their charm. They weren’t entirely comfortable in the hot climate but were far more tolerable than full suits. And the best part? No tie required—what a relief! However, when I think of myself in that Safari Suit now, a shiver runs down my spine. We also used to wear something called a “bush shirt” (I think), and the upper part of the Safari was almost a replica of this.

Speaking of formal attire, think of wedding receptions, especially those held during the summer. In my time, wearing a suit was a must. On the evening before the wedding, the groom would be taken to a temple and, in the stifling heat, dressed in a suit and tie. He would then sit in an open car, surrounded by all sorts of kids—familiar and unfamiliar—while the car moved at a slow pace towards the wedding hall. There would be music up front, men carrying gas lamps, and family members from both sides walking alongside, chatting away without a care for the groom, who was half-sitting in the back, drenched in sweat.

During the reception, the suit would make another appearance, with the bride and groom handed a large bouquet. Under bright lights, in the midst of a bustling crowd, the groom and bride had no choice but to sweat it out. Only the excitement of having a new partner—this young girl who had agreed to marry you without a second thought—kept the spirits up. After enduring the scrutiny of passersby who watched the procession with amused expressions—perhaps wondering who had agreed to marry this boy—and after hours of handshakes that exchanged perspiration with guests, the bride and groom were finally relieved of their stifling clothes.

After the pandemic, whether because of it or just by natural course, I had put on weight, mostly around the midriff, raising it like a small mountain. This upset my balance and center of gravity, and I realized that readymades were no longer suitable. Finding clothes for my shape became impossible. All my pants and shirts were rendered useless. I had to donate them, and with nothing decent left to wear, I went to a local, reputable tailoring shop to have some clothes stitched. I selected five sets, enough for my limited outings in Chennai and for my visits to the USA, where I’d concluded that five sets were more than enough. The climate there allowed me to wear the same set for a week.

With so many brands to choose from, I picked some nice materials. The clothes fitted perfectly, beautifully accommodating my raised tummy.

And what happened next?

Continued in 97. Sartorial Suffocations - Part 6