8am I have an investment meeting this afternoon, and I find myself standing in front of the cupboard as though it is about to conduct the meeting on my behalf. My first choice is an orange jumpsuit that, in the wrong light, makes me resemble a prison inmate from an American series. I put it back immediately. My usual uniform of jeans and a denim shirt feels inadequate. Steve Jobs could wear the same black turtleneck every day and be called a genius. If a woman repeats clothes, she is frumpy. I try on a Gucci monogrammed blazer. I look less like an entrepreneur and more like I need a baggage tag. If I am going to resemble a suitcase, at least the initials should be mine. Though Ginkle Ghanna does have a nice ring to it.

9.30am As I go through my accountant’s emails, I feel almost nostalgic for the days when Bill Gates was trending because of Excel and not Epstein. For a second, I consider boycotting Microsoft. Then I continue typing this very thought in Word. Human beings have always chosen convenience over morality. Morality is importanter. Word underlines ‘importanter’ in red. If only it could flag questionable billionaires with their questionable English skills as seen in all the Epstein emails.

10am The Budget was announced this week. If it hadn’t been, life would have gone on pretty much as usual unless you were either a broker trading futures, or someone importing nuclear reactor equipment. In the first case, you would drown your sorrows in a gin and tonic. In the second, you would celebrate with one. Either way, your drink has become more expensive.

10.30am Looking for an in-depth analysis of the Budget, I am instead inundated with reports about our finance minister’s saree. Financial papers run headlines like ‘Nine Budgets. Nine Sarees.’ Then there is ‘Sitharaman’s Budget Day sarees over the years’ and ‘Finance Minister steals the show in a magenta Kanjeevaram’.

She has called out the gender bias herself, pointing out that nobody asks a male politician what he plans to wear. It is hard to imagine a journalist going up to Arun Jaitley and asking, ‘Sir, will you be announcing the Budget in sombre black or cheerful khaki?’ As she says, it isn’t malice, just conditioning. Men present policies. Women, apparently, present pallus.

1pm I scroll through my phone during lunch break, and I see clips of ‘The Devil Wears Prada’. It reminds me of the time Prada launched $1,200 Kolhapuris. Undeterred by the backlash, they have now introduced a Chai perfume. At this rate, the devil will show up in a gamcha next, marketed as a ‘checkered, distressed handwoven towel scarf’.

4pm After spending the last hour overdressed and overprepared for an underwhelming meeting, I try to divert my mind with the news. I soon realise that while saris may become talking points, it’s underwear that can topple politicians. A Kerala MLA and former transport minister, Antony Raju, was recently convicted in a two-decade-old evidence-tampering case. It dates back to his days as a lawyer when, to help a client escape a drug charge, he allegedly altered the underwear produced in court to look too small to hide drugs. ‘Honey, I Shrunk the Underwear’ sounds like a Malayalam movie waiting to be made. A short film, of course.

5pm I call a banker friend to figure out what to do with my investments, which have been parked in arbitrage for months. He says that while the Sensex is cheering the India-US trade deal, the details of the agreement remain unclear. He jokes that it sounds like we have succeeded at what we Indians do best: getting good bargains, whether it is at the veggie wala, in marriage alliances or global trade.

‘Okay, 600 billion in imports and 30% tariffs.’

‘Arrey make it 500 billion and 12% and I will throw in duty cuts on nuts. Plus, some scooters.’

‘What?’

‘Yaar, tell me openly, you want fridge instead? Washing machine? Don’t feel shy.’

‘25%. And add a few planes.’

‘Chalo ok for planes, but we make a round figure for tariffs. 18%. My numerologist said it’s a lucky number.’

‘Done.’

Curiously, nobody reports what the politicians were wearing during the trade negotiations. I assume that Trump was in Prada.

7pm There is a ring ceremony in my building, and I have fifteen minutes to get ready. A man can wear a kurta-pyjama to Parliament, to a wedding, or to sleep. We don’t have that freedom. A woman’s clothes are a public statement of her competence.

In the West, Angela Merkel, Hillary Clinton and Margaret Thatcher solved the problem with power suits. But they didn’t have our inheritance of silk and handloom, our six yards of history. After seeing images of Sitharaman’s magenta sari all day, I reach for a Kanjeevaram too. As I drape the silk, I think about the multiple roles of women’s clothing. Across ministries, boardrooms and homes, they do the work of armour, ornament, comfort and confidence. I pleat and tuck the sari and secure it with pins. People will notice the colour of our pallus, not how we women hold the fabric of our country together, without any safety pins.

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