Bery, Bery Burberry!

Aradhika  Sharma

Shobha was wearing the new Burberry jacket that her brother had gifted her for birthday. It was a gorgeous quilted jacket, with the Burberry check on the upturn of the sleeve, quiet and elegant. However, no one noticed or commented on it at the lunch table.

“The thing with these jackets, you know….” Shobha began to speak.

“Which jackets?” Sabrina asked.

“These jackets… like the one I’m wearing,” Shobha replied.

“Is that a Burberry?” I asked.

“Yes, I got it for my birthday,” she smiled.

“It’s nice,” everyone agreed.

“Anyway, the thing with these jackets is that you pay through your nose for them and — can you imagine — a button comes off!”

“Really? That’s not good!” I said.

“Yes,” she responded. “My daughter wore it the other day and returned it to me saying: ‘Here’s the jacket and here’s its button!’ I mean at least they can be careful about such details when they charge us a bomb, right?” Shobha was obviously longing for one of us to ask the price of the garment.

“Hmm. You’re right! Even the Zara jacket I got on sale had a missing button,” Mandy said, reaching for a tissue.

“A Burberry is not a Zara!” Shobha was shocked at the sheer audacity of the comparison.

“Whatever! But can you imagine? I bought two jackets for the price of one and one had a missing button!” Mandy continued, not in the least bit daunted or even aware of the gathering clouds on Shobha’s brows.

“Listen, there’s a huge difference between a Burberry and a Zara in every way — brand value, the price, the exclusivity, the clientele…” Shobha clearly stressed her point.

“One of the jackets I bought is pink and the other one is yellow… very pretty.” Oblivious of Shobha’s discomfiture, Mandy was busy digging into her paneer butter masala. 

“So, girls, what are you going to do about your buttons then?” Sabrina asked.

“Oh! I’ve already taken care of that! I went to Zara again, took a similar jacket to the trial room and quietly snipped off a button from it with a small pair of scissors I was carrying! Wasn’t that naughty of me?” Mandy laughed.

Shobha snorted: “At Burberry, they give you extra buttons. Anyhow, mine was not lost so I sewed it on carefully, without having to resort to such peculiar tactics.”

“Vaise, seriously yaar,” Mandy said, “these top-notch brands should be a bit more careful about quality.”

“Listen Mandy, there-is-absolutely-no-comparison-between-a-Burberry-and-a-Zara.” Shobha spelt it out clearly and deliberately. “The two brands simply can’t be spoken of in the same breath!”

Thankfully, Mandy had a teleconference to attend and the conversation broke up. We were walking back to our respective seats when Shobha, walking alongside me, stopped in her tracks.

 “Forgot something?” I asked.

“No, I just wanted to tell Mandy that she can’t compare Burberry to Zara, for god’s sake. I mean it’s like comparing a… a…”

“An HMT watch to a Cartier?”

“Yes! I mean a Burberry is NOT a Zara!”

Got it! Burberry, Shobha! Burberry log, Burberry baatein!