I looked at the price tag, Rs540 it read and I gasped.
In the recent times my family didn't have a great level of chemistry and what better way to regain it than taking off few hours from our systematic lives we rigorously went through to go on a family shopping.
Dad became workaholic of late, being involved in a project to design Malaysian train coaches. His facial hair sprouted in patches of white and he wouldn't shave least he wouldn't get time to, anyways we all grow old every day.
My mother woke up early at 5:30am, every day to attend her yoga classes. She much feared it after being tested diabetic. She then would do her house chores while unending watch her favourite Television soaps followed by pathetic cookery channels. I would sometimes wonder why most housewives would always confine themselves to such programs on TV, no matter how many cookery channels or episodes and tips she watches she would end up serving the same sambar rasam and rice to me and my brother and yes she's the queen of the house and we couldn't protest it.
"You will get married to a girl who never touched the stove in her life." She would candidly curse me.
Yet it would startle me every time, there could be no worse way for someone to curse me than this. My Dear future wife, if you are reading this, my taste buds have died a very long time ago it's for you to give them life please do learn to cook great food I will fetch the moon for you.
I rigorously had to attend FIITJEE, my IIT coaching classes every weekend well that includes the whole of Sunday. But that certainly doesn't mean I was working hard for my JEE exam. My IIT classes were boring, terribly boring worse my batch didn't have any pretty girl enrolled. Well that's my ill fate. But then there were 2 pretty girls, Shalini and Preethi. They were actually toppers of our IIT batch, dare does an average ranked guy asks a top ranked girl for friendship let alone ask her out for a date and even worse if she looks pretty. People like Shalini, Preethi were considered to be 'elite group' of the class. Me and my back bencher friends envied Rohan, Keshav the toppers from guys side. Yet we hoped that one day either of the two girls would turn back, look and smile at anyone of us. Our hope forever remained as a hope. It wasn't that we looked terrible but we didn’t have any credits to boast off to the girls nor the courage. Our classes were air conditioned (At least FIITJEE's brochures promised us so) and our benches were made of metal, we were confined to those pricky benches with long classes. Eventually our butts hurt a lot, my butt needed a change something smooth to soothe it.
My brother Shahrukh, was lost in his own world, being volleyed back and forth by school and tuitions. It was his first public exams, tenth standard. I wasn't sure if he was scared but he was certainly trying not to be buoyed by the hype it generated especially that my father generated. He wasn't exactly a bright student and gave dad and few of his teachers few mini heart attacks. Sometimes you can't stop wondering why Indian parents over react about exams, that to just for tenth standard exams, which these days is obviously more of a formality.
“Tenth standard marks will change your life.”
“If you work hard for tenth exams, you can enjoy eleventh and twelfth standard.”
Such were the lines my dad fed my ears with when I was in tenth standard and mom would somehow compare me and Arun, son of my mother's yoga class mate. Somehow I fucked Arun in school results. Proud feeling dude.
"Shaan, ask mom to get ready by 6 let's take some time off for shopping," all of a sudden my dad seemed to realize he had a family other than his project to spend time with.
My mom couldn't be more ecstatic whenever she hears 'shopping', women will always be women right? And my brother was more or less the same. Well, some unknown reason such things would not impress me much in fact I'm a reluctant especially with women, do you have any idea how painful is to see women buy a saree? That too just one even more if you are the poor salesman. It takes an age to select a single saree. No it doesn't stop there, does it? Matching blouse, hair clips and fancy earnings and other things to go with, and if at all you are ill fated her eyes would lay on another saree which she thinks better than the one she chose and the cycle starts all over again. Its best you plug in your earphones and look at beautiful girls in the vicinity.
We reached Saravana stores, quite a pride of Chennai. A hub of almost everyone especially for a middle class family. I'm sure no matter how rich people are at least 90% of Chennai's overflowing population would have shopped at Ranganathan street, Chennai's own version of Broadway, New York. No, it wasn’t any neat place. It’s actually very very messy, with every kind of garbage littered on the ground and don’t be surprised if ever you are greeted by a cow even in such a crowded street. Maybe sometimes and mostly in India, beauty lies in the messiness. Jewelry shops, fancy clothes, utensils it had almost everything for everyone. Even better was the samosas, badam milk and cone ice creams which sold at an exponential frequency. Going through all these crowded places makes you realize how physically tough you are, jostling around sometimes feel like a squash ball. People never mind that, all everyone wanted was to force in way to store and then to the billing counter (of course few would give it a slip, I know how it is done). Along with all eatery shops, street hawkers add to the sarcastic beauty of jostling street of my beautiful city. There is something very beautiful about street shopping especially when you see your mom bargaining from those vendors. If ever you want to a successful business person it all starts with your ability to convince people that they winning the bout even when they actually are not. Who better than Indian aunties? Valuable lessons, free of cost.
My mom and brother shuttled from one shop to another, in quest to find the best. Hundred wasted minutes to buy a heavily glittering CHUDIDHAR and funky T shirt and jeans for my brother, for which me and my dad disinterestedly voted for. My dad never could understand why my mom always preferred to buy those worked designed clothes, heavily decorated with minute diamond like plastic studs which also bore heavy on his credit card.
“It looks very grand,” she protests every time you question about it.
My brother Shahrukh, of course shares his name with SRK. How should I feel like if he thinks he thinks he is as good looking as the latter? Weird haircuts, funky t shirts, tight jeans. No, he doesn’t look terrible he does look good mostly but sometimes misplaced and sometimes desperate for female attention (which he never gets much though, face palm moment for every guy).
In the recent times my family didn't have a great level of chemistry and what better way to regain it than taking off few hours from our systematic lives we rigorously went through to go on a family shopping.
Dad became workaholic of late, being involved in a project to design Malaysian train coaches. His facial hair sprouted in patches of white and he wouldn't shave least he wouldn't get time to, anyways we all grow old every day.
My mother woke up early at 5:30am, every day to attend her yoga classes. She much feared it after being tested diabetic. She then would do her house chores while unending watch her favourite Television soaps followed by pathetic cookery channels. I would sometimes wonder why most housewives would always confine themselves to such programs on TV, no matter how many cookery channels or episodes and tips she watches she would end up serving the same sambar rasam and rice to me and my brother and yes she's the queen of the house and we couldn't protest it.
"You will get married to a girl who never touched the stove in her life." She would candidly curse me.
Yet it would startle me every time, there could be no worse way for someone to curse me than this. My Dear future wife, if you are reading this, my taste buds have died a very long time ago it's for you to give them life please do learn to cook great food I will fetch the moon for you.
I rigorously had to attend FIITJEE, my IIT coaching classes every weekend well that includes the whole of Sunday. But that certainly doesn't mean I was working hard for my JEE exam. My IIT classes were boring, terribly boring worse my batch didn't have any pretty girl enrolled. Well that's my ill fate. But then there were 2 pretty girls, Shalini and Preethi. They were actually toppers of our IIT batch, dare does an average ranked guy asks a top ranked girl for friendship let alone ask her out for a date and even worse if she looks pretty. People like Shalini, Preethi were considered to be 'elite group' of the class. Me and my back bencher friends envied Rohan, Keshav the toppers from guys side. Yet we hoped that one day either of the two girls would turn back, look and smile at anyone of us. Our hope forever remained as a hope. It wasn't that we looked terrible but we didn’t have any credits to boast off to the girls nor the courage. Our classes were air conditioned (At least FIITJEE's brochures promised us so) and our benches were made of metal, we were confined to those pricky benches with long classes. Eventually our butts hurt a lot, my butt needed a change something smooth to soothe it.
My brother Shahrukh, was lost in his own world, being volleyed back and forth by school and tuitions. It was his first public exams, tenth standard. I wasn't sure if he was scared but he was certainly trying not to be buoyed by the hype it generated especially that my father generated. He wasn't exactly a bright student and gave dad and few of his teachers few mini heart attacks. Sometimes you can't stop wondering why Indian parents over react about exams, that to just for tenth standard exams, which these days is obviously more of a formality.
“Tenth standard marks will change your life.”
“If you work hard for tenth exams, you can enjoy eleventh and twelfth standard.”
Such were the lines my dad fed my ears with when I was in tenth standard and mom would somehow compare me and Arun, son of my mother's yoga class mate. Somehow I fucked Arun in school results. Proud feeling dude.
"Shaan, ask mom to get ready by 6 let's take some time off for shopping," all of a sudden my dad seemed to realize he had a family other than his project to spend time with.
My mom couldn't be more ecstatic whenever she hears 'shopping', women will always be women right? And my brother was more or less the same. Well, some unknown reason such things would not impress me much in fact I'm a reluctant especially with women, do you have any idea how painful is to see women buy a saree? That too just one even more if you are the poor salesman. It takes an age to select a single saree. No it doesn't stop there, does it? Matching blouse, hair clips and fancy earnings and other things to go with, and if at all you are ill fated her eyes would lay on another saree which she thinks better than the one she chose and the cycle starts all over again. Its best you plug in your earphones and look at beautiful girls in the vicinity.
We reached Saravana stores, quite a pride of Chennai. A hub of almost everyone especially for a middle class family. I'm sure no matter how rich people are at least 90% of Chennai's overflowing population would have shopped at Ranganathan street, Chennai's own version of Broadway, New York. No, it wasn’t any neat place. It’s actually very very messy, with every kind of garbage littered on the ground and don’t be surprised if ever you are greeted by a cow even in such a crowded street. Maybe sometimes and mostly in India, beauty lies in the messiness. Jewelry shops, fancy clothes, utensils it had almost everything for everyone. Even better was the samosas, badam milk and cone ice creams which sold at an exponential frequency. Going through all these crowded places makes you realize how physically tough you are, jostling around sometimes feel like a squash ball. People never mind that, all everyone wanted was to force in way to store and then to the billing counter (of course few would give it a slip, I know how it is done). Along with all eatery shops, street hawkers add to the sarcastic beauty of jostling street of my beautiful city. There is something very beautiful about street shopping especially when you see your mom bargaining from those vendors. If ever you want to a successful business person it all starts with your ability to convince people that they winning the bout even when they actually are not. Who better than Indian aunties? Valuable lessons, free of cost.
My mom and brother shuttled from one shop to another, in quest to find the best. Hundred wasted minutes to buy a heavily glittering CHUDIDHAR and funky T shirt and jeans for my brother, for which me and my dad disinterestedly voted for. My dad never could understand why my mom always preferred to buy those worked designed clothes, heavily decorated with minute diamond like plastic studs which also bore heavy on his credit card.
“It looks very grand,” she protests every time you question about it.
My brother Shahrukh, of course shares his name with SRK. How should I feel like if he thinks he thinks he is as good looking as the latter? Weird haircuts, funky t shirts, tight jeans. No, he doesn’t look terrible he does look good mostly but sometimes misplaced and sometimes desperate for female attention (which he never gets much though, face palm moment for every guy).
