Eternal Shoeshine of the Senseless Mind

It is not everyday that two Bihari dudes come up to you and profess their love for James Bond, making you fall of your chair whose edge you had been teetering off for the last few minutes sharing it with the hulking Soham, drying of your sweat beneath the fan accumulated from an intensive Volley Ball session. The two Bihari dudes were Bihari and Yaman.

Soham looked at me, and then back at the two of them. “You sure you are gonna understand the lingo?” He asked Yaman.

The flustered Yaman retorted,” Tumse zyada accha samajh jate hai hum!!” (Better than you!)

Bihari said he was only going because I was going, and before you ruthlessly distort your imagination to gruesome contortions, I might remark beforehand that it was Pal Love, not Gay Love.

‘Twas a Sunday that we went to the morning show in PVR Priya. Yaman and Bihari loved the raw action, found Olga rapturous and raapchanduus (Hindi for Hot) and were too worked up to describe in words. We had lunch at a nearby joint and were proceeding towards the auto stand for a ferry back to the hostel when Soham arrested everybody.

“Heck, just a sec, I needed to buy an Mp3 player for my kid brother…won’t take long I promise.”

And with that assurance he took the flock to a nearby Samsung outlet.

The shop was a haven of accessories. One wall displayed all the LCDs in a neat array. Yaman, Bihari and I stood behind admiring them while Soham made the necessary purchases.

Yaman hailed a nearby salesman, giving me just 2 seconds to avert my gaze and walk away.

” Kitte ka hai ye?”

“36,000 rupees, sir.” Said the salesman, his tone indicating he had better ways to waste time.

” Aur ye?” he said, pointing to a bigger one. I pretended to admire a certain mobile handset.

“74,000 rupees, sir.”

“Saala, Chaauattar hazaar rupaaiye ka khaali TV…he he….hum to ek ghar bana le isme!!” , demonstrating with his hands a bungalow that he would have bought in Bihar for 74 thousand bucks. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bihari squirming uncomfortably.

” He he.” Laughed the salesman, disinterestedly I might add.

Soham was concluding his purchases. We all went to the counter as he called in for a group review.

” Looks allright.” Observed I aloud.

“Looks pretty terrific, Soham, hum hote to yahi lete.” Yaman expressed his views.

Soham turned towards the shopkeeper,  ” Can I have a look at the other model?”

Presently we were aware of a sophisticated auntie standing next to us, the kind you see in Malls and Multiplexes along with a group of other sophisticated witchened aunties who go shopping ya, and then proceed to a spa because the pollution is so on the rise in Delhi na?? I just don’t know what the government’s doing ya and it makes me feels so uneasy na, that my head pains soooooo much!!!
She looked pretty well maintained, outcome of all the cosmetics and Botox’s (I am not sure about the plural of this word, and am not willing to spent time on the ordeal of finding that out. Hell, am I sounding like a politician?) and the fresh Papaya juice in the morning ya, just about 3 quarters of the glass, makes me feel so jumpy-jumpy in the morning!!

Anyways this auntie was alone and conversing on the phone, most probably with a hapless hubby who had just discovered her location and the absence of his credit card in his wallet. The salesmen in the showroom were giving her incessant Bhaav as she seemed the wealthy party and had bought something. That something was a bedroom LCD screen, 3 in quantity as we found out.

” ya I am buying dear, don’t you worry, anyways you get so little time from your schedule you could never have managed to come with me…what, ohh no no….these guys are selling cheaper than Singapore retailers..I checked on the innernet….ya ya…don’t you worry…how much is it for?? Lets see umm…these come for 33,000 bucks a piece…we have got 3 bed rooms…ummm”

She turned towards the salesman at the counter, “what’s 33 X 3?”

The salesman took out a calculator (for crying out aloud!) with a flourish.

He punched in a 3.

Punched in a 3 a second time.

Hit the button emblazoned with X.

Punched in a 3 a third time.

Hit the return button.

“It’s 99 ma’am.” Said the Smug Salesman.

” Thank you ya,” said the auntie, and then into the receiver,” It is 99,000 honey…only that much…OK now I will call you up a bit later…”

I could imagine the hubby on the other side clutching his chest, while strands of hair that he might have pulled out earlier flew over his office desk.

Bihari sniggered close by, while Yaman said, “Yaar, zindagi to jhand hai inki.”

I won’t deny I agreed with him on that, as we made our way out of the shop, our purchases ended with Soham settling for the same model that Yaman had expressed his fondness for.