Rome meets Bollywood

Yes, I know I look as pissed as a newt, but it was only my 2nd drink, and toga parties do seem to have that effect on one.

First, let me explain how I got into this mess. I was 15 years old. Living in Japan. And someone invited me to a toga party. I will leave you to imagine the extent of my humiliation.

So, 28 years on, I’m invited to another toga-do and being determined not to look as ridiculous as I did the first time, I go in search of help.

This arrives in the form of an email directing me to the website of Toga Boy, who gives this advice: “Don’t use a bed-sheet. Let me repeat that. Don’t use a bed-sheet”

“Fine,” I thought. “Everyone is always wizzing down to the Fabric Souq to have ball gowns made up. I shall wizz too”.

But first I ring Sushma, my elegant colleague, who gets around in a series of Indian tunics with contrasting trousers (she has told me at least 20 times what these are called, but I have forgotten), all of which are selected, colour-coordinated and tailor made in accordance with her impeccable taste.

The redoubtable Sushma. Sushma means 'Auspicious Flame' - Why can't I have a name like that?

Despite this excellent supervision, however, it is at this point that the venture begins to go downhill.

First, I discover why people buy ball gowns, plural. There is so much utterly gorgeous fabric, and with Sushma bargaining in Hindi, hissing at me not to look too interested, ask the price of anything, or, worst of all, comment that it was all so cheap, you pay less for sequin-encrusted lamé in the Souq, as you would for cheap cotton or synthetic in K-Mart.

I almost came away with material for a ball gown which was ENTIRELY covered with emerald sequins, to be made up into a gown that would have weighed so much I would have been weighted to the floor and unable to move for the entire proceedings. Imagine trying to attend another Egyptian wedding in that. I don’t even go to the balls here anymore.

And so to the second problem. Everything, but everything, in this part of the world has sequins on it. It is impossible to even buy a t-shirt that doesn’t have the tiniest row of sequins or diamantes on it, so that sequined stuff not only starts to look normal, it starts to look desirable.

“Chamak, Chamak,” Sushma was laughing in between what appeared to be sulks about the price (my god, what a bargainer. Those poor little Souq salesmen recognized a master when they saw one, and just let themselves be beaten down mercilessly.)

What’s “Chamak?” I finally ask. “Oh, you know,” says Sushma, “too Bollywood, too Christmas Tree.” The woman was out there letting my worst instincts get the better of me and she’s laughing about it in another language, the bastard!!

Sushma with the very un-Chamak fabric she came home with...

So I arrive home with the grossly Chamak (lurid orange netting covered with orange sequined squares and gold metallic thread) and the slightly less Chamak (dark aubergine-coloured material with embroidery in the same coloured thread). Both are see-through as I had made the decision (a direct result of my previous experience) that I was going to wear what Toga Boy calls a ‘tunic’ or ‘sheath’ underneath the toga in case the toga itself falls off as the party gets underway.

Then the real trouble begins. The moment you start wrapping yourself with large amounts of material - I’d gone 6 metres, the amount used in an Indian Sari which was bloody stupid because I already know from trying that I can’t even cope with the 5 metres Sudanese women use for their traditional wrap/head-scarf/hijab – this is the moment you start to look like a sofa.

Or a pregnant elephant that has been mated with an eggplant.

Or a bloody Christmas Tree.

And the worst part is this: If you come in a bed-sheet people know that you haven’t tried to look anything other than ridiculous. You come in sequin encrusted netting, you simply look…

…Chamak

Party went well. The gorgeous Ondine is moving to Kuwait – which will improve conditions there immeasurably.

Pete and Ondine. And yes, the predominant male toga fashion was shiny animal prints. But most of the guys had their guts overhanging the toga. And you thought I looked bad...

And re togas? My advice - in direct contradiction of Toga Boy’s which you can find on http://www.howtomakeatoga.info if you’re interested is: Go the Bedsheet!

Everyone had ideas about how this bloody thing should be tied...

Some new Japanese friends prove that not everyone looks ridiculous in a toga (and I have generously forgiven them this). Nobuyo and Akie think Qatar is great because their last posting was to Kazakhstan... (So that's another place to cross off your list.)

Oh, and if anyone has a use for 6 metres of bright orange, sequin and gold metallic thread encrusted fabric, let me know.

See you soon in Australia – can’t wait.

Simone