Of Cinderella, Brontitall and other arbit stuff

On second thoughts, there is one thing in the world more despicable (for the gentlemen) than buying clothes. (Refer earlier blog post for the context). It's buying shoes.

I mean, seriously. Usually men have it easy in this area. All formal shoes come in one of two designs- black or brown, which means even my colour blind self has no quandaries in that department. Hawaii chappals come with a level of standardization that would have made the Ford Model T proud. And when it comes to buying sports shoes, I adopt a Dickie Bird signaling out-like pose pointing my finger forward at some random exhibit in the shop, which the shopkeeper gladly packs up. In fact, if the Bernini sculptures referenced in Dan Brown's 'Angels and Demons' were as unequivocal in pointing at the right direction as I am, Robert Langdon might have saved many more cardinals and archbishops.

No, that's not the demon I'm talking about. Some quirk of fate compelled me to go buy Kolhapuri chappals for myself, the occasion being a cousin's wedding. No disrespect to the cousin being referenced here, I mean she's a real darling and all that, but being made to buy Kolhapuri chappals reminded me of the cricketer in Monster.com's Stuck in the wrong job ad series. I simply didn't fit there. Helpful hints from well meaning relatives like "You live in Linking Road, the happening place for shopping, you won't have problems" didn't help neutralize my cold feet.

Another twist of fate found me on a Saturday afternoon in Pune in the company of two good friends, a cuplord and a half-naxal, half-commie. After some wise counsel with myself, I decided that the half-naxal, half-commie, would have an undoubted advantage when it came to shopping, by virtue of being a female, and furthermore, by virtue of being a localite. In my own version of the on-site off-shore global delivery model, I suggested outsourcing the buying act to her. She jumped on to the task with the alacrity of a French youth biting off grapes from vines at a Provençal wine harvesting festival.

Anyways, cut scene to a Commercial street-esque crowded shopping street in Pune, except that this one had less parking space and more bhel puri stalls. I was herded into one of several shoe stores by the aforementioned couple, and promised that the "job" would be done soon enough. My presence was not really required there but for checking if my feet fit the infernal shoes. i would have gladly acquiesced to having had my foot chopped off for the fitting exercise if only my feet had not been so useful to me. So with Kolhapuri chappals covering most of the foreground and all of my mind space for 15 minutes, various shades of brown and various designs were being flashed in our direction before the inevitable choice had to be taken. I hope at least Cinderella and her sisters had a better time trying out shoes than I did. After taking into account my price sensitivity and the other parties' fashion sensitivity, a certain specimen was soon picked and the salesmen grunted "365" in my general direction. Co-incidentally, apart from being the number of days in a year, it was also the marked price of the aforementioned item.

At this point of time, cuplord rises to the fore with a helpful, "I am an i-banker, I know how to negotiate best, and hence also how to bargain best". In response to the shopkeeper's 365, he responded with "360. No more". The shopkeeper clearly affronted that someone should quote so high a price while bargaining refused to deal with the cuplord anymore. Cuplord was still bargaining in basis points while I decided to take matters in my own hands and quoted a "Saadé do sau" as my offer price. I have since been informed that Saadé do is not the correct Hindi term for two and a half. Apparently, inductive logic fails and adding a Saadé before every number does not yield in it's being incremented by half. The creators of the Hindi language must be sharing a quiet laugh somewhere, as their ploy of confusing non-native speakers is clearly paying rich dividends.

The next 42 seconds passed off in a breeze, and all I recollect is walking out of the store with a pair of slippers in my hands, a lighter wallet and a clearly uneasy stomach. The sound of the shop assistants sharing a hearty laugh at my (and cuplord's) expense still reverberated along with the traffic noise. Gah, who would have thought that simple wedding shopping would lead to so much trauma.

Sigh. Am I the only one who thinks that Kolhapur is going the way of the Brontitall planet and the Dolmansaxlil Shoe Corporation. (Hitchhiker's guide, for dummies). For my own wedding, I must seriously take up on Watsan's suggestion of getting married in my usual IIMB attire (ie: white T-shirt, faded shorts and Hawaii chappals).