Of chappals and of fakes...

If there were ever a level of sophistication that had no justification then this has to be it. I mean this was the pits of sophistication. But, before I get down to it, here’s a little background on the whole story that by itself is really amusing.

For a kid like me, brought up in Calcutta and Bombay(yes…back then they were still called that) in a solid middle class working family, the United States of America was always something that was spoken about with a certain glassed over look. The very mention of it would fill my head with pictures of manicured lawns and fancy cars and what not that drive the imagination of a little 8-year old kid wild. Add to that the friends who had fathers and uncles who came back from the USA with lots of chocolates and crayons and stuff that they brought to school to show off, you’ll get the idea.

At that stage of life my dad’s brother went to the Gulf – Dubai to be precise and he flew through Bombay on his way back and left behind a huge bag full of chocolates. I still remember the names – there was the usual Snickers and Mars, and there was this coconut filled bar called Bounty and tons of others with names written in an undecipherable script which I learnt later was called Arabic and wasn’t really an alien language. Oh…and I got my first set of Crayola crayons. For a week, I was the cool cat in class. Everyone wanted to be my best friend. Then some idiot’s dad went and got him a 56-shade Crayola box. So, I was relegated to second best friend. But, that guy was a dud anyway and got taken for a ride. Someone stole his crayons.

And then there were various other relatives from extended branches that went and settled overseas and became citizens. One such example was my dad’s mother’s elder sister’s daughter. For the sake of simplicity let’s just call her Aunt, her husband Uncle and kids Son and Daughter. Now, Aunt, according to the latest intelligence reports has been in the USA for the past 33 years, which is ever since she got married. Uncle used to work on the National Scientific Advisory Council or some thing to that effect. Basically, he gets greeting cards from the White House for Christmas, New Year, Thanksgiving and other random occasions. Son and Daughter are both American citizens and speak American and Aunt throws statements like, “Would you like to complete that train of thought before I interrupt you?” Good going Aunt, what do you think that statement just did, eh?

They come to India once in three years and we are expected to talk to them as if we met them ten minutes ago on the way to the loo. Or whatever. And since, they have oh so busy schedules compared to us unlucky folks stuck in India, they will organize a pseudocool get-togther in a pseudoplace and everyone is expected to turn up.

Now, comes the killer. This time around it was at the KGA club on Airport road. The catch is that you are not allowed to wear slippers and that kind of footwear. It has to be something that has a strap at the back. Neither are you allowed to wear round neck t-shirts that are missing collars. Why? No one knows. Club policy and all that. Despite all this, the Aunt’s brother is a member there and pays some obscene amount of cash on a yearly basis to be able to chase little white balls around nine holes and then sit and sip 60-buck Royal stag at 300-bucks a shot in a club house with equally dumb people.

Needless to say, I elected to stay at home to go pick up my sister, look after my grandmom and write this post. I also have it from eye-witnesses that a ceratin aunt of mine who resembles a rikishi in build managed to overpower the bouncers and walk in with a pair of Paragon hawaii chappals.
Adios and here’s wishing all of you a Merry Christmas and a Zappy New year!