OK. Future Group is huge. They have Dhoni campaigning for them. All malls have Big Bazaar. But still I detest going to them. It has nothing to do with the quality of clothes there (You might end up buying a shirt which the guy on the next square is already wearing. Poor you, there go you 500 bucks!). The high end range might just get you free admits to the costume party or the nearest Gujju Dandiya Night (Manager ni cabin kya chhe?). And I’m also not talking about the fact there is almost never a size available for you, when you happen to like something. Or about the jeans, which makes you look like
It happened 4 years ago, during the days of yore, the fresh green days of youth and the energy and vitality of college years (and Wordsworth and Shelley turn in their graves). Well, I was in my first year at engineering college in
Now, I must tell you one thing. I hail from Mumbai, where the greenery and the natural beauty are quite stunning. I’m not talking about the trees. I’m talking bird watching, and not of the Dr. Salim Ali’s interest. Engineering colleges are one of the most deprived places when it comes to the female species, and
No sooner do we enter, we all start looking around as if we were lost, which is not possible because there is only one way. Up. We went up the lift, and there she was. A pretty (very pretty, whatever, beautiful, gorgeous and all those adjectives) girl standing all alone (Do we see a chance here? Hah, who are we kidding) on the first floor while the lift moves to the second (Damn, the shop had to be on a different floor). I was completely lost. With my gaze fixed on her, I walked out of the lift, not knowing that a certain aunty (I do happen to get into a lot of trouble with them) was standing right at the door. I crashed into her, while in a hurry to get out and all her shopping items fall onto the floor. To make matters worse, I even stepped on one of her son’s shirt, which now bore a huge Reebok boot printed logo (Yay! Reebok tee!). I didn’t know what to say (I’m kind of socially challenged) and we just scrammed from there with my friends laughing there hearts out. Serves me right for staring. But the lift troubles were far from over.
After my friend finished shopping (and I kept looking over my shoulder to see if a vengeful aunty was about somewhere), we again got into the lift. This time, I stood right in the corner. Three women got in. One of them very, very fat. Six people, small lift. Overload buzzes. Now, my friend, who didn’t know the aunties had gotten in, remarked, while still looking down,” Arre kaun hai yaar. Lift pe reham karo. Overload ho
Aunt # 1 says,” Badtameez! Sharam nahi aati?”
Stunned silence. I hadn’t even realised what had happened.
I asked,” Hum?”
Aunt # 2, in English,” Don’t you respect womans? You youngsters have no respect for elders. What college do you study in?”
Aunt # 2: “Toh kya par aa gaye tumhare? I will complaint you to the police.”
I snigger at the faux pas, and the obvious lack of grammar. It was funny. Wrong, but funny. If she didn’t know English, she shouldn’t have spoken in it then. I know. We are bad people.
My friend was stunned. He said,” Auntyji (He’s from
Aunty refused to budge. She just went on and on. As the lift door opens, we run out like criminals, but not after having said,” Bye, aunty. Sorry. Thanda maaro.” My friend just couldn't keep shut, having been wrongly accused.
With bloodshot eyes, I’m sure she wanted to give a tight one to each of us. Her face haunts me to this very day. And that is why I hate going to Big Bazaar.