A sopping ishtory

Girlie took me shopping today. I thought I would look up stuff for myself while she was getting quality threads for herself, but as it turned out…Bandra’s Link Road only had bales and spools for the fairer sex. Hence, here I was in a shop that deals exclusively in women’s fancy western wear like many other shops in our island city.

Over-powered by the urge to sit, I posted myself on a chair, which actually turned out to be a vantage point from where I could just see things, as they were heppening oh, happening.

A huge punjabun rolled in with her two daughters – both past marriageable age, but still in dainty frills. They seemed to be looking for something, their eyes flying all over the shop like flying saucers in the Praire skies. The elder daughter was saying that she had liked something that she had seen here earlier and couldn’t remember what it was and couldn’t sight it now. They buzzed behind the stool I was perched on, even as I saw the shopkeeper look mouth wide upon as big as a yawning hippopotamus’ look at the India SA match. The younger one was prying into a pile of clothes a little away but soon cam prancing by holding something smaller than the half of a normal-sized dupatta and almost as sheer. “Mumma…mummy.” Probably taking her selection to the Home Fashion Inspector and moral conduct supervisor for approval. The elder one was still looking for that something. The mother, now concerned that her daughter had fallen victim to some obsessive compulsive shopping disorder tried to help by saying, “You saw here?” (Kindly note that ‘here’ sounded more like ‘hey-err’ the Punjabi way of saying ‘here’. I would love to attend a fun fay-err in Punjab!)

Other wannabe participants from ghoulish beauty pageants sashayed in and out all the time that I was seated on that stool. They wanted this and that and the salesmen were patiently tugging at the products from the shelves behind them and spreading them onto the table in front of the customers who looked and pointed more at the shelf rather than checking out what the salesman had laid out for them! “Woh dikhaana, woh…nahi nahi…uske upar waala, haan wahi.” Lips pouted, eyes prowling, some ruminating chewing gum.

Enthusiastic shopping partners had their arms akimbo with an eyebrow stuck up at the North Pole…”Ya, this one’s better (giggle) that one made you look a little fat.”

Suddenly another sound invaded the air. “Mera black sweater uske paas kaise aaya?” Madam, who identical piece hai.

A team of huge ladies was on their way out. They thought it was funny to mutter allowed that the cricket-loving shopkeeper was growing kanjoos because he wouldn’t give them a discount. One of them was floating a desire to gain tips to hide fat, when another one said, “Jo chhupaane ki koshish karte ho, who hamesha dikh jaata hai. Well, that’s one wise quip that even applies to real life and not just to extra tyres around the tummy.

And then there was this forty-something aunty who was trying a noodle-strap top over her spotless white shirt. She poked both her arms throw the gaping holes for the arms, drew the material over her head, thrust her breasts in front, almost poking the mirror. (Shit, why can’t she use the trial-room?) Finally when the top was in place, she started checking herself out in the mirror as if posing for retro-style photographs the first one with her chin up, then chin down, then to the left and then to the right. All of them straight out of a primary school PT exercise drill.

Bird watching is otherwise such a pleasurable activity. But this was different. It felt like being stranded in a I^st class ladies compartment! It’s like being inside a library of bestsellers. There’s so much of it together, in one place that you don’t know which one to read first. Saturation point?

Girlie, who initially thought it very uncouth of me not to help her make her decisions about the jeans, has decided that she would take me shopping again apparently because I patiently waited through the entire selection and trial process without major fuss.

In all, it was a great experience (THE right way to end essays according to English subject teachers in school).