It was during the Wills Lifestyle India Fashion week, I was entering the hall for a show of a designer friend. High fashion is a reversal of the normal, mundane, everyday clothes that normal, mundane, everyday people wear, namely me. If you are anywhere near healthy (I mean overweight somewhat) modern trends are just not for you. I fiercely hold onto my older styles, because I have grown into them, and the trousers finally understand the woman I am.

Anyway, that’s not the point, the point was I must have looked a last-season lady, because this patton tank behind me kept jostling me to get past. "Excuse Meee", her voice was as sharp as the heels she wore. She had squeezed into her dress like a toothpaste advertisement. Please! I muttered, irritated that she had no manners.

"Excuse..", now she was moving sideways and my irritation and anger was getting more specific. So, I blocked her deliberately sensing her ample presence behind me. "Girlie!", she addressed one of the young girls assisting the crowd, " My seat is in the front row, can you move me there?" Move her there? She needed a forklift, I thought.

"Why is it such a Delhi trait that everyone wants to sit in the front row?" I loudly asked my daughter, who hates confrontation even if it is about the weather. She began whispering, “Let it be”. But today, I was adamant, what was so special about front row seats? Had someone seen her pass? My irritation had picked up tempo, playing like an orchestra in my head.

Before I could react, she had sidestepped us all, stepped on the toes of an eager volunteer, who nursed her foot, and as she bent down the lady escaped our scrutiny. She swept up to join a bevy of page 3 sparrows on the front bench. Thin and stretched between their designer shoes, clothes and bags the ladies made place for her, since she blocked their vision and they had no choice. "Can I see your pass?” I looked her squarely in the face. "Excuse Mee." she raised her eyebrow like I was from the jungle. God, is this the only English she knew!

"I..I would like to see your invite, I want to make a sense of this chaotic world where everyone wants to sit in the front row and explain the inexplicabilities we see playing out here everyday. “Why that innocent girl", I continued, pointing to a young, well-dressed girl, standing at the back, “cannot sit here and the wicked are rewarded..I am the 'Hangman God', that James Joyce’s referred to, if you will. Sitting on the seat of judgement,"I could see I was confusing the issue, the ladies and the crowd. Good. Her eyes held an expression between fleeing and fearing, so I plucked out her invite effortlessly.

"Aha! just as I thought", I smirked," This says FS that means free seating, so my dear you are taking someone else’s seat...look, ours has a number on it A2, which is awful, but there you are...", I handed back her invite and waited for her to get up. Then she took me by surprise, "You aren’t the lady who conducts the children’s workshops, are you? oh my..o my...I have been wanting to meet you for so long...you aren’t the one who is starting one this weekend, are you? Please take my seat if you want, here!" She got up and vacated a large shadow of space. Then she began telling the other ladies about the great work my partner and me do with children and adults. The razzle-dazzle of her earrings swayed as she spoke animatedly. I felt as tall as an ant on high ground. Then she turned to me and whispered, "what’s your name, again?"

Had I heard right, "Excuse me!”, I replied as the lights dimmed and the music shot out of the speakers to start the show. She reinstated herself in her seat while I fumbled in the darkness to find A2...way in the corner.