One tight slap

It was a long, exasperating day! As I climbed up the stairs leading upto my house, my right calf was beginning to feel numb. "I exerted myself a bit too much, today," I thought for a fleeting moment. As I was about to enter my house, I was greeted by a dozen uninvited guests who were waiting for the door to open. These guests were regulars at my house. It was just another day when everyone at home exchanged helpless and disgusted glances upon seeing them. It was yet another day for my 8-year-old golden retriever, who rushed towards the main door just to turn around as soon as he sensed the guests' restlessness to get in. Despite trying every hack to look normal and retain my sanity, I was unable to keep myself from frowning.

Hunger was beckoning from a long time. With every passing minute, the noisy guests seemed to be losing their patience. The we-are-here-for-food guests looked like they had not eaten in ages. No sooner did I sit down to savor my cheese sandwich than the guests create a furore and started to hover around my chair to get a chance to satiate their hunger. On the one hand, if the young guests looked like amateurs who could barely fend for themselves, the older group members had a way with their actions and tricks, and seemed to be totally at ease with what was perceived of them. If the guests on my left were buzzing with excitement, the ones on my right grimaced and looked disgruntled as soon as they realized my reluctance to offer them what they were anxiously waiting for.

The cheese that was added to the sandwich was melted. Some of it had dripped out of the two slices of bread and settled on the outer crust of the bread slices. My first bite of the sandwich was exhilarating. As I went about relishing every bite of the soft, velvety sandwich, I sensed that I had dropped some of the cheese on the floor, but surprisingly, none of the guests looked interested in feasting on the cheesy meal. I tried all the possible ways to tire them out, which included extending my dinner session. Despite my persistent efforts to ruin their chances of meeting with success, when it came to being driven out of the house, the gang, which consisted of some vicious-looking members, had already decided to stick around till their purpose was served. It was 10 p.m. by the time I finished devouring my meal. My yawns ceased to stop. I had to be up by 6 a.m. the next day. It felt as if the guests' energy levels had got a fillip. They looked all gung-ho to defend anyone and everyone who tried to shoo them away. And I, for one, had given up on their not-so-discreet antics to gain attention. "I must no more waste my time tackling such insensitive beings," I thought to myself and switched off the lights in my room.

15 minutes into resting my droopy eyes,  I started tossing and turning in the bed. The room temperature was ideal for a sound sleep. I soon started to hear a faint buzzing sound. The sound became more intense as I opened my eyes. As someone who was not one bit amused to open my eyes to the unpleasant sound made by the young guests, I took no time in pulling aside my floral-print blanket. I immediately reached for the switchboard and turned on all the lights in my room. Wide awake, now, I realised that some of the guests had crept in my room. My focus soon shifted to the one who had already begun feasting on my blood. By now, there was already enough build-up of anger, fatigue, irritation, and restlessness to take a revenge. With all the physical force and mental power, I struck my right calf.  Bravo, I had finally managed to pin the big, fat enemy down! The sight of a bloody calf made me heave a sigh of relief. I felt like I had won a long-standing battle. And guess what, my numb right calf finally regained its sensation with that one tight slap. 

When I went bra shopping

Shhh...be a little soft. Or better still, use the code 131217. Always make sure your bra straps don't peep out of your top/T-shirt. Try and keep it between your clothes after folding it, so that no one can see it.
That's the most literal translation of Indian mentality towards a garment that holds the power to embarrass Indian men and women alike.

On the one hand, if 32B is considered to be undesirable and not lustful enough to grab a man's attention, 36C falls under the category of being drab and not making the right cut. And, if 32B seems child-like, 36C tries too hard to fit in. Pun intended. And in such a scheme of things, 34B, which nicely strikes a balance between being not too little and not too much, while maintaining a decent average, seems like the most apt size to flaunt. And with this size, no one can ever judge you for wearing tight clothes; and moreover, you will never be told by the shopkeeper ''Yeh size mein sirf do colors hai; ek black our ek white.''

I have always been quite fascinated with the concept of lingerie shopping. As futile and not-worthy-of-being-time-consuming an exercise as this may seem to some, it is always nice to invest in something that makes you feel good. Unlike the scenario in malls, local lingerie shops usually just have the store owner and one or two employees that you have to deal with. And usually if the shopkeeper is a male, he wouldn't take the greatest pride in showing the variety of bras that are in stock. He is usually very grim and gives a sense of how because he has no choice but to do what he does. The lingerie section in malls, on the other hand, has a much relaxed atmosphere. You see a wider range of bras on display. Nobody is conscious or hesitant, or atleast that's what one makes of their behavior. Be it a fancy, push-up bra or an uber-cool lace bra with all the possible stylish detailing, malls make the experience of bra shopping very significant and adventurous, unlike the experience of purchasing lingerie off a hawker or at a local lingerie store which are located across from a busy street, where you inadvertently let every passer-by in on your list of specifications while looking for a bra.

Last week I went to a local lingerie shop. As I was browsing through the collection, the price tag on a beautifully padded, blue bra read Rs 1499/- Upon seeing this price tag, I thought to myself if I should invest so much money into something that was only meant for optimizing my personal satisfaction. Next to me was a young couple who was trying hard to find the right kind of lingerie for the woman. The man apparently looked like he had been forced by his wife to stand beside her, while she shopped for what the man felt was a little too embarrassing for him to be do. The store employee felt equally shy to show their new spring summer collection of bras, which the woman is keen on seeing, around her husband. At one point, when the woman went inside the trial room, her husband performed the act of disappearing under the pretext of answering a phone call. Just then, a bunch of college girls entered the shop. They asked the shop owner to show them some high-quality lingerie to which the shopkeeper replied by asking about the size in which they were looking for bras. Not knowing her exact size, a girl promptly said that she was not sure about her size and asked for her size to be measured. Her girl friends suddenly broke into a fit of laughter, like the teens they were, upon encountering this scene, and left no stone unturned to leave the shopkeeper embarrassed. My attention, by then, had been fully diverted from the purpose of my visit to the banter that was unfolding in a step-by-step fashion.

As the wife proceeded to pay the bill, while trying to track her husband, the husband rushed inside the store to check on his wife and see if she was done making the purchase. His wife, who was grinning after making the purchase, excitedly started talking about how very few shops offered what she was looking for, and how her search for the kind of bras she was looking for ended with that store. And this time, it was me who burst into laughter, thinking about the husband's plight, and embarrassed him enough to make him hold his wife's hand and lead her outside the shop, while gesturing her to be a little soft, because at the end of the day, it was the B-word we were dealing with, and like some Indian women rightly say, "Shhh...be a little soft while talking about it."