Have you ever worn a stranger’s trouser? I have – and have even attended an interview wearing it roughly seven years ago.
I had two formal trousers and a pair of jeans back then to take me through a week.
For my vacation in Calcutta my home town, I had carried all three of them with me. The three trousers together with the few trousers I had at home would be enough to take me through the two-week long vacation. It proved to be a little more than sufficient.
I went through the vacation, with one day to go, without even having to touch the brown corduroy trouser I had carried with me from Bangalore. It was my costliest one which I wore only if I felt the occasion warranted it. On my last day in Calcutta, an occasion rose which made the cut.
At that time, I was searching for a job in Calcutta so that I could finally return home ending my stay away from home for several years. I am still trying. On my third day in Calcutta I got a job interview. It was a test I had to go through to qualify for further rounds of selection.
I fared alright and felt I would get a call for an interview but when even after a week or so I didn’t hear from them I dropped the hope and then forgot about it. The call arrived on my last day in Calcutta, later that day I was to fly back to Bangalore.
I asked for a telephonic interview later but the caller insisted it wouldn’t take very long and that they would arrange for my drop at the airport, the office being not very far from there. I was flattered. It was not the convenience but the honor. It must be the test, I felt.
As I was putting on the brown corduroy trouser, my legs zipped through it to the other side with an unusual pace and ease. After putting on the waist button I realized it didn’t quite fit me – it was a little too loose. I tied my belt tighter – and the trouser looked like a tent. It was originally a comfort fit – and I was at a loss how it had metamorphosed into a lungi. Was it magic?
When the interview was over, quite happy with my performance, I swaggered to the reception having been asked to wait there. My performance in the interview had put me in such a buoyant mood that when I spotted the receptionist seeing the strange thing I was wearing, it didn’t make me uneasy.
After sometime when no one approached me about the promised drop to the airport, I felt reluctant to check with the receptionist and decided to leave – later I could call up and check the status. The company contacted me later but it didn’t materialize.
The next morning, in Bangalore, when I went to the laundry to give my clothes for wash, the laundry man said what I had remotely suspected: that when I had collected my clothes from him before I went to Calcutta, he had mistakenly given me someone else’s trouser. “The colour and texture of the other trouser were exactly the same as yours, sir.”