Royal Run-In

I was busy chatting with someone else when a spokesperson cut in and said, 8216;8216;Allow me to present Srikanta Datta Narasimha Rao Wadiyar, His Highness the Maharaja of Mysore.8217;8217;

Thankfully, I was to refer to the 51-year-old as 8216;Your Highness8217;. He offered me a big hearty handshake and asked me to come along with him8212;into a room full of saris.

8216;8216;This is my collection for tonight8217;s showing,8217;8217; said the proud maharaja, imploring me to check out one of those luscious silk numbers. I did a double take at the collection. I8217;d never met a maharaja before, much less one who moonlighted as a fashion designer. And a politician, I found out later. The maharaja stood on a Congress ticket in Mysore and lost by a margin of 15,000 votes.

While I gathered my dropped jaw, he described his satrangi seven-coloured and athrangi eight-coloured saris, explaining that the motifs on them were all symbols of the royal family of Mysore.

8216;8216;How do you like the Spanish music we8217;ve picked for the show?8217;8217; he asked.

I bobbed my head in a silent nod, knowing fully well that the song on the loudspeaker was Kandisa by Indian Ocean. But there was something wrong. I didn8217;t seem to remember Vedic mantras being part of the melody. Noticing my bewilderment, he explained that there was a ceremonial puja taking place in the adjoining room.

The maharaja is as superstitious as they come and wears a ring on each finger, 8216;8216;all for good luck8217;8217;. He kept fiddling around with them and chanting to himself.

Strolling out of the ballroom, there was that creepy feeling of being followed. I swung around colliding into a couple of rifle-toting guards, who were as astonished by the close encounter as I was.

8216;8216;They8217;re for my safety, Veerappan8217;s threatened to kidnap me,8217;8217; the maharaja drawled nonchalantly. According to official records, he8217;s worth around Rs 1,500 crore. I wondered what anyone would pay for me if I happened to be kidnapped along with him.

And as we spent time together, the maharaja, I realised, was a very well-informed person. Over a cup of tea, he talked passionately about his plans to convert all his palaces into hotels.

An authority on Mysore8217;s glorious past, he loved to stress his 8216;8216;descent from the Indo-Aryans and the Krishnavanshi Rajputs of Dwaraka.8217;8217;

That evening, he chose to wear black balloon pants with a white blazer and red waistband. 8216;8216;Save a place for me, I8217;m coming to sit next to you,8217;8217; he said, just as his fashion show was about to start.

As the models started walking on the ramp, he pointed out several, claiming to have 8216;8216;made them8217;8217;. 8216;8216;They were nothing before they came to me, now look at them,8217;8217; he said proudly.

I mentioned that he should come to Mumbai to show his collection. 8216;8216;Find me a sponsor, and I promise I8217;ll design a beautiful outfit for you,8217;8217; he said.

Evidently, he8217;d taken an avuncular liking towards me. Afterwards at the bar, the white wine drinker offered me an extremely tall stool, right in the middle of a circle of journalists. I sat there, sticking out like a sore thumb, with every other member of my group giving me curious, amused looks.

The rest of my evening was exciting in its own right. A colleague went missing, an inebriated man spilt his curd rice on me, and the buzz of friendly banter was all around. But sundown was not half as eventful as spending a day getting up close with royalty.