The Club of the quiet kidnapped men at the Mall

There are millions of things which the missus and me, have to put up with (sans resistance and with a wide smile) to ensure that we cheerfully do them together (having been married just 3 months now). A visit to the Mall is one such errand which I have to run every alternate day. According to my wife its every alternate month and I guess the actual truth lies between 5-10 days. It’s like the wide-ranging perception in the minds of a mother and a toddler about the time elapsed since he last ate a big Cadbury.

Since the start of our relationship I have probably seen 40 different Malls in Mumbai, Kolkata, Chennai and Bangalore (4-8 times each). By these statistics you may be forgiven for erroneously assuming that we have known each other since 6-8 years. Today, 15^th Oct, 2010 is the second anniversary of our first meeting. Two Mall-going Years... 

While I find all such visits to be the same with different layouts and architecture, I’m astounded at the observational skills of the female eye which never find two Mall-outings-done-at-different-timestamps the same. My trips generally follow the same itinerary:

Step 1: Park the bike/car at a surprisingly big but still annoyingly full basement parking lot by paying what used to suffice for a flight ticket to Bombay in 1963.

Step 2: Wait for an eternity and get into the lift to go up. Don’t be irritated if the lift goes down to an even lower basement parking lot (you’d be surprised at the number of parking levels these days).

Step 3: Reach the ACed plush atrium of the Mall. Closely follow the missus to where she’s going.

Step 4:  Get into one of those lifestyle-brand-named shops that rent 3 floors of the mall and become the clothes-hanger for her majesty. When asked for an honest opinion about a certain merchandize, honestly say that, “It’s one of a kind dear!”

Step 5: Hold the ‘Total-number-of-clothes-selected-for-trial minus 3’ clothes outside the trial room (since the trial room bouncer-cum-bitch allows only 3 to be taken at one time).

Step 6: Make eyes wide and eye brows wider to convey a YES or make eyes smaller eye brows twisted and covey a NO without any blasphemous words.

Step 7: Do the ritualistic choooo-chweet-teddy-bear dance together and head for the long queue at the billing section alone while the missus tries on some imitation jewelry bought @ non-imitation prices. (Just when the waiting list reaches the ‘WL 1/13’ status will the missus appear to endure ‘half’ the waiting time).

Now are the few moments when I peacefully sit at those checked green and blue sofas and enjoy my limited edition membership of ‘The Club of the quiet kidnapped men at the Mall’. Men are not found smiling or speaking here. Each has the same expression(less) emotion on their face. We unwittingly share our hopes and aspirations about the long awaited freedom each of us may eventually attain (few sooner and many later). When a wife or girlfriend summons one of us, the elder members usually give a small smile, conveyed more by their eyes than by the lips, thus giving the leaver the strength and girth he will surely need until the next time he arrives. Less than 2 minutes pass and the missus summons me too. Charged with the strength of the smiles the elders bless me with, I go to the billing section, too strong to react in any destructive way to the ridiculously large amount which has been paid for moh-maya-like clothes and accessories which will be deemed too old fashioned two weeks hence.

Precautions and Sources of error:

1. Fight every instinct which forces you to make a face which may reveal your true horror about the price of a scarf (or teddy bear or dupatta or hair clip or pretentious fake jewelry or belt or bag or nail polish or lip stick or mascara or eye-liner or bath salt or body-shop-products).
2. When asked a question about how a particular dress is looking, under no circumstances (how much ever compelling they are) you should tell the missus that she may need a bigger size. The equivalent opposite reaction (of your action) would be literal in every sense of the word. An even smaller size will be bought with a weight loss challenge which will change your diet for ever.
3. Never mention that her 2-minute-visit to a small shop which is very close (read 37-minute-visit to Lifestyle which is on the other end of the mall) will increase the rent of parking (which is on a per hour basis) by another digit. No exaggeration intended.
4. While trying to divert the attention of the missus whose line of sight has just encountered a hyper expensive juice shop (which apparently sells a nanocup of Berry Berry @ Rs. 89 [+ local taxes extra] and which her friend boasted is just-too-good), be clear about where you may reroute that attention. Because it may just happen that your Bengali wife may find Kolkata Chat Bhandar which sells her phe-vo-rate jhaal-mudi [+ orange juice] combo @ Rs. 105 [+ local taxes extra].

Bah!! Have to think up a Title too??

Had to go through a million steps to try and look anonymous. None of the specifics (Gmail ID, Name which will appear, Name of Blog, Name of Post, etc. etc.) have more connection than a cow, Mithun-da, a SATA Hard Drive and Bhojpur may have.

I really have a tough time coming up with fictional names which should also convey something about what will follow. The Gmail ID was created 5 min before writing this. I tried so many non-cliched and totally cool IDs like 'bluemoonguy', 'sad.on.cloudNo.9', 'random.thoughts', 'free.soul', 'the.intellectual.idiot', etc. etc. that Gmail (probably out of sheer irritation) barked 'wat.d.faq' and gave me all my 'anonymous' ID - wat.d.faq@gmail.com. The Name which should appear on the Blog is a tribute to C++ which by default saves Programs to noname.cpp. The Blog name is a story a friend told me trying to express his intellectual prowess about the (earth's)crust-reaching levels to which the newsworthyness of happenings have reached in recent times. And just when I thought that these are all the specifics I may have to conjure up and clicked on 'New Post', a 'small' text box to the right of Title: greets me. 

Ah! How hard I try to appear cool and funny. It's quite evident isn't it? My previous attempts at writing have always followed a constant pattern. The variables x_{I-feel-its-good} and y_{time-elapsed-after-writing} have meticulously followed the inversely proportional rule.

I once tried to write a book about my failed attempt at wooing a girl into liking me or loving me or whatever it was back then. It was only 15,000-words later that I finally gauged what was the look on the faces of the people on whom I shoved my avant-gardish work of art – it was nothing but constipation. They wanted to ‘spill’ so much ‘shit’ on me after having suffered through it, but my expectant eyes must have got the better of them.

My other attempts like writing articles for the College Magazine, were met with rejections by Editors who used their talents at crafting ‘sincere’ euphemisms like ‘this is good but the topic does not suit any of our sections in this issue…’, ‘the language in this one does not dwell well with most other articles…’ and my personal favorite – ‘your views in the Article on the Reservation of OBCs may cause concerns to your security…’