I'd read about a place - beyond the fish market and off backpacker routes, where the fancy Indian designers kept shops. and company turned inwards and away from the street outside. I donned my best cleanest and brought my fan-cooled India to the air-cooled world of The Courtyard.
A journey from the lowest, lower east-side bodega to Bergdorf's main floor, multiplied by the India quotient.
The shop assistants appeared collectively convinced that I couldn't afford a barrette: eyed me, returned to conversations.
Which allowed berth and time to rifle the bejewelled pouffs that, dwell - state-side - in stores in states I don't get my wardrobe in. Then there were relvant things as well - I bought two (A Abraham + Thakore, a gray/lilac silk blouse with buttons up the back and PRATAP label, a shruggy thing which may wear me till I get the upper hand.
C - not really equipped to fashion-report
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