Ek Tha Tiger: Fasting and Fast Fashion

The girl gang and myself walked along,indulging in rolls at one restaurant,main course at another and finishing off with a pot of phirni at the third. The food here is famous the world over,especially during the holy month. Among the believers,walk innumerable tourists: these are visitors from other countries,cities and tonier addresses,each one seeking their slice of Mumbai’s pie,the grub.

Under the Makhdoom Mahimi bridge,the iconic dragon’s tail that Mumbai adores as the JJ Flyover,the real surprise of the evening came from the fun fashion finds we discovered.

The area around Shalimar restaurant,a biryani landmark,has been turned into a fashion street of sorts. There are scores of makeshift stalls selling white kurtas with cheaper variations of Lucknowi chikankari. But the eye can’t miss the rebooted saafa: the houndstooth scarf that Arab men wear regularly,even though it did enjoy a fashion revival in New York City post 9/11.

We are clearly ‘re-revisiting’ it. Only this time it’s called the ‘Ek Tha Tiger scarf’. Our English-speaking men friends are sold,each one gets his own in the belief that Katrina Kaif will follow suit. Mohammed Yunus,a charming young lad despite the paan-stained teeth,is excited to meet a newspaper journalist. “Give me a break,” he implores,adding,“I want to be an actor.” When I told him I couldn’t possibly launch his film career,he begged to meet John Abraham.

But it’s Salman Khan who strikes street fashion yet again; the saafas have replaced the fez on almost every head here.

More stalls bring more revelations. A costume jewellery vendor had the girls stop for shimmering baubles,the kind we see at fancy stores in Dubai and Bangkok. Our handbags are filled with enamel rings that will compete with those made at luxe labels,in design if not quality. There are also crystal brooches and hair accessories — no one would wager they were from the streets and at Rs 40 a piece.

Attar stalls sell perfumes of every fragrance in beautiful old-fashioned bottles. It instantly brings on memories of the Annick Goutal store at Rue Royale. Bespoke perfume is bespoke anywhere in the world.

Just across the street is a lane of chooriwallahs,with scores of bangles in every shade imaginable. Handcarts carrying baskets of lace and quasi Chantilly abound.

An adorable set of hoop earrings,with the instantly recognisable Burberry checks,sold for Rs 20. My fakes-are-for-fakes principle made me abandon them. But the handbags on the streets continued the checkered fever.

“Louis White-on”,I laughed,pointing at a white Murakami style. We went on to rechristen others ‘Marni Marjani’,‘Berry Berry’ and ‘Ted’s’. The crystal-studded hijabs came from ‘Roberto Qawwali’ and the array of shiny shoes were obviously ‘Jimmy Thoo’.

The ‘underground’ fashion scene had inspired all of us.

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