Ramesh, wrinkled shirt aur garment cover ke saath, tailor ki fitting room mein ghusta hai jaise koi aadmi apni izzat ko kandhe par latka ke laaya ho. Bright white fluorescent light uske chehre ki har tension ko aur zyada be-rahm bana deti hai. Mirror ke saamne khade hoke woh suit jacket ko bahar nikalta hai, cufflinks ko ungliyon se chhedta hai, aur khud se hi bolta hai ki bas aaj shaadi mein sabko impression dena hai. Yeh suit usne borrow kiya hai, aur uske liye yeh sirf kapda nahi, promotion, respect aur family mein thodi si izzat ka ticket hai.
Tabhi Nitin enter karta hai—cousin bhi, tailor bhi, aur smug confidence ka walking showroom. Measuring tape uske gale mein aise latak rahi hoti hai jaise woh paida hi fitting ke liye hua ho. Woh suit dekhte hi claim kar deta hai ki yeh uska design hai, uska cut hai, aur agar kisi pe sabse zyada suit karta hai toh woh khud hai. Ramesh ghabra jaata hai, kyunki Nitin ki baat mein technical authority bhi hai aur family arrogance bhi. Woh suit pehenta hai, mirror mein khud ko dekhta hai, aur apni shoulders ko thoda seedha karke bolta hai ki haan, thoda tight hai, par shaadi mein tight hi achha lagta hai.
Itne mein Kishore entry karta hai—wedding guest, family rival, flashy pocket square aur permanent smirk ke saath. Uska poora mood hi yeh batata hai ki woh kisi aur ke embarrassment se apni shaan build karne aaya hai. Suit ko dekhte hi woh turant bolta hai ki yeh style toh usne twenty years pehle pehna tha, aur tab bhi log usi ko dekh rahe the. Nitin ka ego bhadakta hai, Ramesh ka patience khatam hota hai, aur teenon mirror ke saamne ek absurd war zone bana dete hain. Har line mein status ka competition, har glance mein old rivalry, aur har tug of war mein suit ka seam aur khulne ka darr. Nitin pins se fit adjust karta hai, Kishore cufflinks pe apna hak jataata hai, aur Ramesh har baar jacket pehente hi aur zyada middle-manager lagne lagta hai—jaise promotion nahi, punishment ke liye tayyar ho.
Dialogue aur bhi hilarious hota jaata hai jab teenon decide karte hain ki suit kis par sabse achha lagta hai, par koi bhi sach sunne ko ready nahi. Nitin bolta hai ki fabric usne select kiya tha. Kishore bolta hai ki attitude uska hai. Ramesh bolta hai ki desperation uski hai, aur isi wajah se suit usi ka lagta hai. Mirror mein teenon ki reflections ek hi frame mein aati hain—ek tailor, ek guest, ek borrower—aur sab apni masculinity ko collar, cuff aur crease mein measure kar rahe hote hain. Fir Nitin ek final fitting note ke saath reveal karta hai ki suit ka shoulder line actually ek unusual job ke liye bana tha, jise woh “special occasion” keh raha tha. Kishore usse aur bhi upar chadhkar bolta hai ki special occasion toh uski shaadi thi, jismein sabse zyada spotlight usi ko mili thi. Ramesh beech mein phans kar bas itna chahta hai ki suit uske upar theek dikhe, taaki kam se kam shaadi mein koi usse “budget version” na bole.
Aur phir climax mein, jab teenon ek doosre se zyada loudly argue kar rahe hote hain, Nitin garment cover ka tag padh leta hai. Room ek second ke liye freeze ho jaata hai. Tag par likha hota hai: “Black Suit – For Funeral, urgent alteration.” Teenon ka chehra dekhne layak ho jaata hai. Ramesh ka gala sookh jaata hai. Kishore ka smirk gir jaata hai. Nitin ki smug confidence pe pehli baar crack aata hai. Pata chalta hai ki poora din, poori shaadi, poori ego-clash ek funeral suit ke around chal rahi thi. Jis suit ko sab apni shaan samajh rahe the, woh asal mein kisi marhoom ke liye tayyar kiya gaya tha. Ab teenon ek dusre ko nahi, apni hi stupidity ko dekh rahe hote hain.
Aakhri beat mein Ramesh suit utarta hai aur relief ke saath bolta hai ki achha hua, ismein already “dead serious” look hai. Nitin pehli baar hansa deta hai. Kishore apna pocket square theek karke kehta hai ki chalo, kam se kam is suit mein kisi ka toh final fitting ho gaya. Teenon ki hansi fitting room mein phail jaati hai, aur bright fluorescent light ke neeche woh samajh jaate hain ki male vanity ka sabse bada joke yahi hai: kapda kisi ka bhi ho, drama sabka hota hai.
---