8.30 a.m. Nathalie Mourot, pick up your phone! That's my photographer I am talking about…the ever-accommodating mademoiselle is mysteriously missing this morning, only two hours before we are scheduled to head to Paris' polo grounds for an exclusive backstage shoot at Dior's Spring/Summer 2007 haute couture showing. I swallow two exquisitely buttery croissants, slip into my luxe James Ferreira red silk dress and impossible killer heels; my almost-defunct Nokia is burning my ear to ashes. And still no answer from my French photographer.

10.45 a.m. Nathalie calls! With the worst news possible. She has just emerged from the hospital with her neck in a brace (early morning car accident) and lugging a camera over her shoulder is out of the question. Before I can launch into a full-fledged martyred breakdown, she rings off, with a promise to find me a replacement. Not very encouraging, as the photographer she is trying to reach has chosen to sleep late instead of waiting by his phone to come rescue my story.

11 a.m. Kalyani Chawla, my host and Dior brand ambassador, India, is sympathetic but impatient to leave for the venue. Maybe once we get there, scouting for pictures from in-house photographers will become an option.

11.30 a.m. Guillame to the rescue! Nathalie has found her partner in crime and assures me that he will reach the polo grounds latest by twelve noon.

12.10 p.m. A very innocent-looking French boy meets me at the gates with his tiny haversack and scooter helmet. I am dubious, but grateful. Five minutes and the shortest shoot briefing later, and Guillame is in action. A quick look at his digital camera and I am genuinely thankful this time - I have a winner on my hands. Project Dior is truly underway!

12.25 p.m. I stroll through the narrow corridor of the backstage area, my pointy heels digging mini holes through the wooden floor boards; very rustic, functional set up, this. My thick grey overcoat is firmly in place; any notions of showcasing my crimson creation underneath have been thrown out the heavy hospital style white doors - even my fashion fed system cannot survive two degrees of wind and cold in flimsy silk.
Colourful salads, brown bread sandwiches and diet colas complement cartons of Evian and fresh coffee - fodder for ethereal models and earthly beings alike. Skinny is still in, my friends. I grab a salad; croissants are off my 'foods to die for' list forever…or at least until tomorrow morning.

12.35 p.m. Everybody is in black; it's like a chic mourning parade here. Pat McGrath, make-up artist extraordinaire, also in black (with contrasting, blindingly white teeth), is "living the couture moment! We work for a few days on the looks for the show, constantly experimenting with trials on the models." Once don John gives his nod of approval, polaroids of the final profiles are captured for reference on the final day. Five make-up sections for forty-five girls, which means a distinct look for a batch of nine models each. Every work counter is a mirrored space of brushes, foundations and colour palettes. And lucky me gets to see the lineage of Japanese culture begin to tell its story stroke by stroke. Alec Wek, supermodel with the irrepressible dimples, flashes me a grin and winks - she is experiencing the excruciating magic first hand as it gets painted onto her face.

12.55 p.m. There is a quiet buzz; the easy camaraderie of a fantastic talent pool working in perfect tandem. Orlando Pita, celebrity hairstylist from New York (visit his salon Orla, for the Hollywood experience) has come down especially for the Dior and Valentino couture shows. He imparts with some practical advice, "Never follow hair trends, see what works for your face shape, what actually suits you and what can easily be put together without the help of a stylist." He needs to visit Mumbai to try and convert our blowdry-addicted city.

1.15 p.m. Fake nails are being buffed and painstakingly polished in white and red. Elsa Klench from FTV (fitted jacket and pencil skirt in today's ubiquitous black, but a break with leopard print boots and a tan Louis Vuitton tote) has finished with her round of interviews and journalists slowly clear the crowded areas so that final touches to the models can continue in relative peace.

1.45 p.m. I push through the heavy black drapes that separate backstage from the main show area, to enter Dior Wonderland. Five mounted stages in dove grey and white greet me, adorned with gigantic cushiony chairs, an Edwardian wall lamp, a flowering cherry blossom tree and gauzy curtains respectively. Kalyani explains that Galliano has adapted features from Dior's original salon to emulate an intimate ambience…just like the old days when rich debutantes and their mothers would visit the master couturier for the one divine dress that would invite envious society chatter.
Polished chairs proudly display name cards in elaborate calligraphic writing. Last year, the show was held at this same venue, but the constructed tent at that time played host to about 900 guests. Today, only one-third that number is expected to attend, again, to encourage that environ of privileged shopping.

2.00 p.m. A quick rehearsal for the last few models. The choreographer guides them across each stage, gently leading them to the ushers at the side, who will help them walk down the few steps of the podium; the heavily structured gowns and multiple block heels could otherwise cause some embarrassing falls down the catwalk. A willowy vision halts by the curtains, delicately and deliberately shifting her weight to swivel slowly from side to side, another Japanese interpretation of exaggerated female wile. I peek backstage again. Rails of frothy silks have been carefully hung with attached cards bearing the models' names. The show is getting ready to hit the road.

2.10 p.m. I meet with Sidney Toledano, CEO of the fashion house, and his wonderfully sophisticated wife before casting my eye about. Dita Von Teese in a breath-defying cream suit and beret, Diana Kruger in a simplistic, stylish charcoal shift, the U.S. Vogue team - Anna Wintour in signature fur (I almost expect a PETA demonstration to follow), Grace Coddington, lovably approachable with her frizzy red hair and granny ensemble (in black, what else), Andre Lean Talley in an inexplicable fringed coat and animal print pouch. The revered Suzy Menkes from the International Herald Tribune enters in a boxy coat, with the usual pouf atop her forehead intact. The waif-like supermodel Bojana Panic sits quietly in the corner with Alexis, stylist of the show. Asian press agents mill about importantly; an encouraging sign of our progressive journalistic times. It is très French to forego lunch in honour of an exhilarating fashion spectacle about to unfold.

3.20 p.m. The SHOW. Kaori-San and Chiyo-San (the line sheet has aptly provided Japanese show names for each model) glide through in hand painted and embroidered straw dresses…I wonder at the painstaking detail, the unfathomably synchronised layering, the brilliant use of colour. Is it a thousand folds that undulate mildly on an ensemble? The art of origami has been converted to an exact fabric science here; I am left teary-eyed at this meticulous perfection. The parrot greens and raging fuchsias excite my Indian taste buds; I have been told that Galliano wept when he visited India and witnessed her glorious beauty and maybe it is my hopeful imagination that he has transported some of our hues onto his luxurious crêpes. One can envision the trials and triumphs of his ten years with the fashion house in this historic collection. Haute Couture Spring/Summer 2007 may be the finest moment in his destiny yet.

4.15 p.m. The crowd is euphoric as the last model rests languidly on her chair - she has floated past us in a cream ruffled and tiered ball gown with an outlandishly gorgeous mix crowning her head like a royal tiara. Suddenly, a storm of confetti bursts forth from the overhead lights, we are swathed in a snowy haze of paper butterflies as John Galliano, the costume chameleon (last year, he chose a space suit), makes his haughtly entry onto the stage in a royal blue soldier's coat and white Jodhpurs. His is a beautiful visage; strong features, eyebrows quirkily perked up, blond mane cascading in waves. He does a complete round of the arena to take in the well deserved cheers; he has risen from the ashes of some average, some aspirational, some awe-inspiring shows to present one today that will make its way into a chapter of the style epics that elevated the couture world to new heights.

4.30 p.m. As Kalyani and I rush to grab our ride with Pierre Denis, also from the Dior group, I pause to look back one last time at the glorious white tent. It's not every day that one gets to be part of a big moment in fashion history.