Buying an Overcoat

chillibreeze writer — Padmini Natarajan

Rekha sat in front of the TV watching models displaying overcoat styles. All were in black or mouse coloured, with lapels, double breasts, French lines and cutaways.

“Thank God I live in Chennai and don’t have to worry about protecting myself from the weather,” she thought. “Of course, looking at the torrential downpour that the city has been experiencing and the dramatic fall in temperature, maybe, I should now be thinking about raincoats. Anyway overcoats are not exactly my favourite topic.”

She shuddered and thought back to her first trip abroad to UK in the early 80’s. Her brother, Prakash was living in Edinburgh with his Scottish wife. She and her daughter, Ramya were going to meet his children for the first time. Rekha was very excited as all her book knowledge of England was going to become a reality.

“I hope you have warm clothes,” warned Prakash. “Or at least, something for when you both land. We can find you something from Jane’s cupboard for you and buy some for Ramya”.

“Don’t worry I will get myself an overcoat,” assured Rekha. Her exposure to the dictates of Fashion was restricted to Cinderella’s ball gowns and the bustle dresses of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer.

There was just one shop in Chennai at that time that catered to ‘people going abroad’. She managed to pick up a couple of sweaters for both of them and was persuaded by a salesman to invest in a pair of long Johns that she was told “would keep her warm even in Alaska”. The overcoats were however drab and dull in black and brown.

“These are definitely not my idea of happy colours. I am a true blue Southie and like maroons, greens and yellows,” she declared.

The salesman searched high and low and finally in the bottom shelf he found a pink coat with huge buttons and slanted pockets. When Rekha tried it on she told herself, “Wow! I look like Audrey Hepburn in ‘Roman Holiday.’” (It was only years later that she discovered that all of Hepburn’s clothes were designer stuff made by Givenchy and St. Laurent).

With great excitement, Rekha and Ramya boarded the plane. Everything was new for both of them—the seats, belts, trays that were folded down, food, the interesting crockery and cutlery given in packets, the tiny cartons of butter and jam. The time literally flew by and soon they landed in Heathrow.

Rekha rolled out her trolley and eagerly looked around for her brother. Prakash was late and was not to be seen anywhere. Ramya, aged 8, was meeting him after many years. She whispered in an anxious tone, “How will he recognize us Amma? I am sure we will be left hanging around.”

“Don’t worry. We grew up together and he can’t miss me,” Rekha assured her. Prakash rushed into the concourse and spotted them immediately, because there she was in her pink overcoat like a stick of sugar candy, standing with the luggage and a kid gripped tightly. He was so happy to see them and hugged Rekha and lifted and swung Ramya a few times around. He did not comment on the coat as he was too excited to see them. They were soon on their way to Scotland.

“Oh look! Daffodils and crocuses! Wordsworth’s description of an English countryside in April,” she exclaimed.

“Dreadful things! Gives me pollen allergy from April to August,” commented Prakash deprecatingly. Rekha however was not to be discouraged as she spotted this and that from all her reading of the classics. They stopped at little restaurants at Petrol Stations to eat sandwiches, cup cakes and muffins—“Really out of Enid Blyton,” said Ramya. It took them eight hours to reach Edinburgh. They were greeted warmly by Jane and introduced to three-year-old Robert and baby Mary.

The next day was Easter and they were ready to go out and roll the eggs down the hill, a Scottish custom. Jane offered her overcoat to Rekha.

“Oh! I have my own”, she said proudly, as she reached for her pink overcoat hanging in the hall closet. Jane brushed it aside and handed one of her own saying politely, “You will need a warmer one.”

Rekha, not sure of the correct protocol, accepted the thick coat gracefully even though it was black. It was not easy wearing a thick coat, putting it on and taking it off, and by the time she got used to the process, it was the end of her fortnight’s visit. Rekha however remained blissfully unaware of the real cause for the offer of the alternate coat.

By the time Rekha went abroad again to visit Ramya who was studying in Paris, she caught on to the nuances of coat colours. However, her aversion to black made her get a shaded, blue, hound’s-tooth coat tailored by her husband’s tailor. This was real ‘bespoke’ stuff and she did not think that it would create an issue.

When she wore the coat over four layers of clothing underneath, she looked like a barrel, straining at the buttons as the tailor had not made allowances for this.

“Mom! What is that stuff you are wearing? For heaven’s sake!!” cried Ramya in horror and quickly dumped the coat into the dustbin and gave her own waterproof, windcheater to Rekha.

A couple of years later Rekha went to the US. Her son, Raghav’s wife took her in hand and lent her coat. Rekha thought to herself, “Maybe the siblings had a conference on ‘How to avoid Mom’s atrocious taste in overcoats.’ Rekha managed to stay afloat throughout her stay in a long overcoat that was not black but a kind of bitter chocolate colour.

Prakash’s son, Robert was grown up by now and was getting married. Rekha was representing the clan at the wedding in London. Ramya joined her from the USA, and with foresight, brought her a lovely camel-coloured coat. She also made sure that her Mom looked ‘with it,’ adding all the appropriate colour coded accessories of cap, gloves and shoes. Prakash, sighed with relief, delighted to see this dapper, trendy, blending-with-the-landscape sister, who wore her sari and the appropriate Western outer garments as well.

Rekha was still uncomfortable with the overcoat. “I don’t think I will ever get used to the weight of a heavy overcoat on my shoulders”. She was older and not so agile and found it cumbersome to sling her handbag on to the shoulders over the thick coat as the handles were not long enough. She tried out different ways of carrying the handbag and searched London shops for a bag with long handles. Alas! the ‘in thing’ was clutch bags, backpacks or Queen Elizabeth’s famous lady-like bags meant to be carried on the arm and just big enough to carry a pack of tissues and a compact.

Rekha’s overcoat supply had now been taken over by her kids. However, she is still searching for a comfortable bag with long enough handles to be ready for her next trip.

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—About our writer:

Padmini,

Columnist, freelancer, editor, storyteller for kids, actress and Wordsmith, enjoys the serious and the absurd. Loves life and interacting with people.

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