(I wish this story may never come true with anyone, neither friend nor foe!)
I curse the Sunday I told my mother I needed a new pair of boxers (chaddis). The next thing I knew, we had parked our car in Kamla Nagar, and was following her into a ‘Lingerie Shop’ ( The sign said “Deals in: Men and Women’s innerwear, Nighties & Pyjamas”).
I find going to such shops an ordeal, because they have posters of women in their inner wear splattered on all sides, and old men sitting on the cashier’s counter, following/stalking your gaze, which unintentionally romances about. If you gaze/stare/letch on a photograph for a moment too long, they give out a triumphant snigger, “Caught you! You little pervert”.
With great effort and determination, I found my eyes something else to do; staring with extra ordinary intensity and interest at my wrist watch, while the sales boy took out boxes from the shelves. I didn’t even pass a glance, when two pretty Miranda house girls entered the shop (how I know that is another story!).
That was until, my mother exclaimed in her loud booming voice, ”Beta, why are you always buying Jockey, look, the cloth of this Baba Sultan is equally good, and its cheaper too”. If that wasn’t humiliation enough, I looked up to find mom having virtually hoisted a chaddi, right in front of my face. As the piercing giggle of the two bitches rang loud in my ears, I contemplated suicide for the first time in my life. I sheepishly pleaded "Mom! just get the Jockey’s so that we can leave".
Embarrassed and harassed, I went on to make the payment, when the Cash counterwale Uncle Ji (he wasn’t done with me yet, he too wanted a part of the action!) asked: “Beta, watch nayee khareedi hai kya? Bade ghoor ghoor ke dekh rahe the! Vaise dekhne me to achhi hai!”. I left that shop, a wise man. Wise enough to know one more place I’ll never take my mother to…
I curse the Sunday I told my mother I needed a new pair of boxers (chaddis). The next thing I knew, we had parked our car in Kamla Nagar, and was following her into a ‘Lingerie Shop’ ( The sign said “Deals in: Men and Women’s innerwear, Nighties & Pyjamas”).
I find going to such shops an ordeal, because they have posters of women in their inner wear splattered on all sides, and old men sitting on the cashier’s counter, following/stalking your gaze, which unintentionally romances about. If you gaze/stare/letch on a photograph for a moment too long, they give out a triumphant snigger, “Caught you! You little pervert”.
With great effort and determination, I found my eyes something else to do; staring with extra ordinary intensity and interest at my wrist watch, while the sales boy took out boxes from the shelves. I didn’t even pass a glance, when two pretty Miranda house girls entered the shop (how I know that is another story!).
That was until, my mother exclaimed in her loud booming voice, ”Beta, why are you always buying Jockey, look, the cloth of this Baba Sultan is equally good, and its cheaper too”. If that wasn’t humiliation enough, I looked up to find mom having virtually hoisted a chaddi, right in front of my face. As the piercing giggle of the two bitches rang loud in my ears, I contemplated suicide for the first time in my life. I sheepishly pleaded "Mom! just get the Jockey’s so that we can leave".
Embarrassed and harassed, I went on to make the payment, when the Cash counterwale Uncle Ji (he wasn’t done with me yet, he too wanted a part of the action!) asked: “Beta, watch nayee khareedi hai kya? Bade ghoor ghoor ke dekh rahe the! Vaise dekhne me to achhi hai!”. I left that shop, a wise man. Wise enough to know one more place I’ll never take my mother to…
1 comment:
hehehhehehhehehehehhehhe
Post a Comment