Text by Nisha Jhangiani

30th March: It's a nightmare of a day - a chaotic packing session in the morning, followed by a literal run for the Sabyasachi (brilliant, brilliant) and Lascelles Symons/Mandira Wirk (so-so, with another almost malfunction) shows, then racing to the office to collect some last minute papers and packages for the trip. A genuine dilemma having to choose between a blow-dry appointment and the Suneet Varma show - no prizes for guessing which one wins; naturally, a girl must look her groomed best before embarking on an international tour.

And finally, I am on my way to the airport for a flight that will take me to The Singapore Fashion Festival, organised by The Singapore Tourism Board. I realise that I am unnecessarily carting along my tickets and sundries for Delhi (I return from Singapore at an unearthly midnight hour on the 4th, only to drive back to the airport a few hours later to zoom to Delhi for another hectic Fashion Week). A quick pass-on of excess documents to a grumbling father and I am on my way to check-in…my bag already weighs 23 kilos, this is not good news! Really, it's high time good-as-gold shopaholics are offered a 60kg luggage card that allows them to travel to any destination with an honourable view to boosting that country's economy.

Strapped and on board, I suddenly panic as there is no way now to verify whether my jewelled Malini Agarwala belt has been correctly packed into the Singapore strolley or whether it has found its erroneous way into the ready-to-go Delhi suitcase. I wonder how the Ashish Soni show fared in Mumbai and stop to check my bandaged, sprained foot before drifting off to Singapore mall dreamland.

31st March: I am seriously jetlagged with this two and a half hour time difference. Groggily collect baggage and make it to the exit where I wander aimlessly until a casually dressed, distinguished looking Singaporean stops me to ask whether I am the Indian journalist down here for the fest. As I nod vigorously, he introduces himself as Garry Koh, my guide for the duration and we proceed to the car, where my driver, Tommy, compliments me on how good I smell! (Chance, by Chanel, you can never go wrong with it). As we cruise towards The Gallery Hotel, near Boat Quay, I am regaled with stories of the Rakesh-Hrithik Roshan Krrish shoot, where Garry was chief right-hand man - it's incredible how Bollywood gossip filters through everywhere.

I ask Garry how this Fashion Fest is different from Singapore's Fashion Week and he explains that the former is a yearly event aimed at exposing Singaporeans, tourists and the world media to the newest local and international fashions slated to be immediately available in their respective stores around the city. A 'see and buy' innovative concept, so to speak. In other words, Fashion Fest propagates the slogan, 'Shopping is in Fashion'!

A quick change at the hotel and I am driven to Ngee Ann City, which houses the renowned Takashimaya department store along with a host of other high-end and mass market brands. A pristine white tent has been set up amidst this shopper's paradise to showcase some local and international collections (how apt and how considerate to a time-bound visitor like me). Day passes are available so that the general public can sneak a peek at these designer shows and then carry on directly to the store to purchase exactly what they have just seen. I wonder why we can't adopt a similar strategy to introduce outsiders and reacquaint natives to the wonders of versatile Indian shopping.

12 p.m. - I grab my media badge and head for the Hansel showing, presented by local designer, Jo Soh - a first class honours graduate from Central St. Martins, London. Jo's line of preppy English checked and geometric prints, layered and ruffled indigo and cappuccino tops, hoodies and pedal pushers with ballet slippers is highlighted by a creative dog show ambience - models walk with a motley of mongrels, sporting satin badges. I am entertained.

Lunch takes place at The Line, an airy and bright restaurant at Singapore's posh Shangrila hotel. I gorge on an Indian buffet and some decadent chocolate fondue as Garry introduces me to some fellow fashionistas - Celine Novenario, fashion and beauty editor for Lifestyleasia and Stefanie Bernice, associate editor for Metro Magazines - both popular publications from Philippines. The girls have just arrived an hour ago; they proceed for a short rest after lunch before the Topshop Unique and Topman show at 4 p.m. I on the other hand walk into seventh heaven - Takashimaya's shoe department. An hour later and no purchase in hand (there is a great deal on the shoes - buy one and the second is 40 percent off - this kind of decision requires serious time and thought, both of which I am running out of at the moment). I waltz into the belts section and finish my quota of five urgently needed variations. Three floors up and a delicious amber halter and cream balloon blouson later, I head to the basement of Ngee Ann and into G2000 - 10 candy coloured, wrinkle-free shirts that cover me for father, brother and boyfriend (efficient shopping down to a T) and then back for the next show with some tick marks on my must-buy list. My Philippine troupe is ready and how - pens poised, digital camera in hand (I don't even know how to use mine, but Garry comes to the rescue with his talks on flash adjustment and layout settings and I gracefully hand over all picture-taking responsibilities to him). We talk about some Indian models who participated in the fest last year and as the show ends, Pamela (another Asian writer) comments on the superiority of our dark-skinned beauties (Bravo, girls!). The draped tangerine printed dresses, aqua kimono tops and wedge sandals, coupled with a 20 dollar discount coupon have us all rushing to Topshop at Wisma Atria, where in the middle of the gazillion clothes racks and harried buyers, I chance upon the Arcadia Group's (Topshop's parent company) International Director, Amir Afkami, taking a much-deserved neck massage. We discuss Topshop's entry into Mumbai and a possible local partnership (a mini-quiz from his end, which goes nowhere, as I am only interested in the 'when' bit of this chitchat, not the 'how'), and then I take my leave, only to find my pearl-encrusted, pink slippers have snapped! Before I can dive into another shoe shop and use my 'must buy, it's now a necessity' excuse, Garry gently steers me towards a cobbler downstairs, who quickly glues on my split chappal at no cost - my seemingly Singaporean features at work here!

I am whizzed back to the hotel, for a formal change to my beige, georgette Cue dress and then back for cocktails and the 8 p.m. Calvin Klein show - I've seen better and I wonder what elaborate prêt gems I am missing out on at the still ongoing Fashion Week in Mumbai. I finally meet Jason Cheang from the International Communications Department of the Singapore Tourism Board, the man responsible for bringing me here. Jason heralds me with some impressive figures, "Last year we had 8.93 million visitors coming here, but the Singapore Tourism Board 2015 plan is to attract 17 million visitors and achieve a business target of 30 billion dollars." Wow, I silently mutter and question again why we can't attempt a similar game plan back home.

While the rest of the girls head to a sushi joint, Garry, keeping my vegetarian and only-cooked-fish eating sensibilities in mind, takes me to an all-vegetarian, Chinese restaurant, Ling Zhi. A sumptuous five-course meal later and I am so ready for bed, Ministry of Sound (the next item on my power-packed agenda for the day) be damned. Pillows and blankets have never felt better.

1st April: I wake at 9 a.m. with a knock on my door - it's my friend Pooja from Mumbai, also down here for a spot of retail therapy…we both are firm fanatics when it comes to morning darshan in a new land, so a quick bite of breakfast and we are on our way…to Chinatown and a whole new set of shop stops. Quaint and almost Goan in its feel, this one time shopper's delight now houses a mix of lower-end stores and more individualistic, edgy fashions. It's clear that Venue fits into the latter category - the boutique acts as a forefront for sportswear brand Puma's designer range, with creations from fashion legends like Alexander McQueen, super models like Christy Turlington and interior gurus like Philippe Starck (the visionary behind London's awe-inspiring Sanderson hotel). Unfortunately, even a 50 per cent discount offer does not tempt a sport-allergic being like me to slip into silver thread embroidered, buttercup sneakers.

Next stop is Paragon mall, Mecca to the couture conscious. A couple of hours browsing Mont Blanc, Gucci, Burberry, Versace and no sight of the elusive handbag I so believe will just leap out at me from a softly lit, frosted glass shelf. The saleslady at Metro's lingerie department is silently cursing us I'm sure, as we try a truckload of bikinis and swimsuits. Suggestion to swimwear companies - please understand that normal humans and flat-chested models are two completely alien species, the former require options which could include a size 10 bikini top and a size 8 bottom or vice versa - you could call such figures 'hourglass', or alternatively, 'cellulite thunder hips'.

I manage to catch the Marks & Spencer show at 2 p.m. before returning to where I belong - Zara and Mphosis at Ngee Ann. 3.45 p.m. and I suddenly feel a bit faint; Pooja, who has been part of other such sojourns with me, immediately figures it out - we have missed lunch! Speed snack of Thai noodles later, I dash back to the tent at 4.20 p.m, ruing the fact that I might have missed the Robinsons show. Luckily, the gods are on my side, but to be safe, Garry informs me that I only have until 5.30 p.m. to complete my 'tasks' for the day (remember the shoe dilemma from yesterday?) before returning to the hotel to prepare for the Diane Von Furstenburg extravaganza.

And that's what it truly is, starting with the ruby red, lip-shaped gooey chocolates passed around during cocktail hour, to the yummy goodie bag (signature Diane racer back tee). The show itself is astoundingly buyer friendly; it's a no-brainer that the burgundy taffeta wrap dress with polka dots, the long black wrap sweater, the tuxedo wrap with white sash and red revolutionary wrap (the uninitiated, please note, wraps are in) will have queues of uber trendy women waiting to swoop down on the flagship store when it opens mid-April.

As I confidently decide that I couldn't possibly be more satisfied tonight, dinner at My Humble House (at the majestic looking Esplanade mall, which also hosts various art and cultural events at the theatrical domes a few steps away) proves me wrong. My gang of three (guide, gal pal and me) arrive a bit later than the rest of the media group - an urgent transaction involving the purchase of an ivory, boat-shaped tote bag at a small kiosk nearby detains us, but all's well as we hungrily peruse our custom menus - again, a specially prepared all-veg menu for me. Seeing us shiver in the chilled temperature, the restaurant manager kindly loans the use of some pretty, pastel shawls - this eatery is immediately top of my list now; The President, The Grand Hyatt and The Oberoi in Mumbai, take note!

Exhausted. Foot swollen to the size of a watermelon (I'm tired, I exaggerate, it's that simple). Bed.

2nd April: Sunday is not a holiday when you're in Singapore for a fashion fest and a round of frenzied buying. We spend the morning on a quest for an elusive pair of Rock 'n' Republic jeans, which, after two failed attempts, I finally find at Inhabit in Palais Renaissance. It is the very first time in my life that I have had to actually wait for a store to open (12 p.m. on Sundays, what's with all this laziness people!). But shiny pink embroidered pockets later, I have forgiven all. Alterations at a tailoring unit suggested by the store staff and I have the most perfect denims ever.

The usual round of store-hopping continues before we have to change for an early supper at Marché Hereen - a supermarket style 'quick bites' system, where we indulge in wafer-thin pizzas, the most divine Caesar's salad (ask for a dash of mustard in yours the next time you order it anywhere, and relish the heightened flavour) and an overdose of caramel gelatos.

Back to the show venue for the last time to witness Missoni's grand finale - the girls coo over the subtle embroidery on my new Surily dress (god bless you woman, for allowing me first choice and purchase from your show) and elicit promises of a Manila visit so that they can take me around the shops. How easy to find a woman's Achilles heel, I realise, as I make the exact same offer should they ever happen to plan a trip to Bombay (Mumbai, they correct me).

A warm thanks cum goodbye to Jason for this truly well-organised and fashion friendly experience and we are then carted to check out the Crazy Horse Paris - a Lido-like show of oiled, toned and unbelievably nimble limbs - the pole dancing and synchronised prancing has us joking about taking notes to impress boyfriends and husbands. Of course, what we actually do is pounce on the wasabi flavoured peanuts instead.

And then, the night and the trip are officially over as this newly formed girl group exchanges hugs and assurances to meet again.

3rd April: I have wisely requested a late evening flight, keeping my special requirements in mind. The countdown begins to scratch off every item on the crucial 'matter of life and death' list, which includes exclusives like girly notepads, neon phone charms, and…hold your breath, there, smack in the middle of Ngee Ann Goddess City, quietly sits the most exquisite Chanel purse-cum-clutch!! Its milky white hue beckons, but I determinedly stride away, having shot beyond my over-budget limit already. Two hours later and my love-struck heart returns to its haunt. The white version is now gone, I am told, so I hurriedly choose an option in coral, again learning my lesson to never doubt my first preying instinct.

A tearful goodbye to shops that have already become bosom buddies and Pooja and I are being driven to the airport, with a thunderstorm brewing away. Garry sweetly explains that this is happening because the Singapore skies are mourning the departure of their now-favourite shoppers. Another promise of visits - this time, from Garry, who hopes to make it to our city for the Krrish premiere, and then, in true Indian style, Pooja and I squat in the middle of the airport to cram our latest odds and ends into bursting suitcases. This however, does not deter us from a leisurely stroll of duty-free buys (only to make use of the extra 10 per cent cash-back guarantee at detax if you decide to shop further). 8.10 p.m. and we are in a soup - the flight takes off at 8.30 p.m. and we are nowhere near the departure gate! A crazy, hobbled (my ankle, have you forgotten) race and a huge reprimand from the Sardarji ground control manager, who warns us that our bags may have been offloaded…WHAT! Does the man not comprehend that my three days of sweat and toil lie in those bags! No matter, he still shoves us towards the plane, where we spend the next four hours praying for the safety of our new corsets and cardigans.

The lord hears our frantic pleas and I arrive back home only to begin another round of packing - have to show off some latest style statements in Delhi now, don't I!

As for WLIFW, that's another saga altogether....