The appointment that doesn't feel like an appointment
You walk into a store in Chandni Chowk or Banjara Hills or a mall in Pune with what feels like a clear idea. A colour. A silhouette. Maybe a reference photo saved on your phone for three months. The salesperson smiles, pulls out a bolt of fabric, and within twenty minutes you are sitting in a cloud of tissue-wrapped lehengas you did not ask for, holding a glass of water you didn't want, while your mother is already on the phone to your maasi about the one in the corner. The appointment was supposed to take two hours. You leave four hours later with nothing decided and a vague sense that your opinion was the least important thing in the room.
