Posh Avenues-2

After that wrought iron gate with clean roads,  lined with Australia-imported trees, leading towards buildings, spaces between them all green; it was the place where one could breath fresh air and walk unmolested by noises, the stares and the density of crowds. But it wasn’t meant for everybody; the cars with blue license plates mingled with the latest sedans and SUVs explained who they were. If they spat on the roads, if they honked to show their arrogance, even if their children screamed and spoke like rowdy kind, and even if they habitually ogled with their computer-screen reddened eyes and saliva slipping through the corners of their mouths, here those were deterred and behaved themselves out of pretension in front those “embassy people”, whose association was much valued.

It would be entirely fashionable when someone stuttering in English usually preferred to declare “I have an uncle in New Jersey” in the company of some white folks, and if he was more resourceful then he could hold the attention with a silicon-valley anecdote: Quite a bright chap who graduated a topper from that IIT or IIM, and then directly picked up the Gates people and now glued to the place. Oh, you must be knowing him, the Times ( Times of India), in fact, ran an article on him with the headline “The Indian who made it work in Silicone.” Despite all the laurels, when he visits home he is just the same old simple man my granny sees.”

And those white folks from embassies would listen, with an objective in their minds; This place is the future, ours is ageing and nobody is willing to try anything adventurous back home. What worked with us  sixty years ago has been churning gold here, and if we maintained the Victorian mannerism and gave out some attention every now and then, god knows we could end up meeting those IPL owners whom we could introduce to our three-piece suit class.

In their presence, those who could say things in English would speak to their kind in well-modulated voices, and upon realizing an approaching better-dressed class or upon discerning footsteps, which came after wafting French perfume, they would re-modulate their diction and say bollocks in grave tone with clarity, as though it was some global issue.

Such a place also gave them a space where they could be quite adventurous in the manner they dressed up; one would hardly see a lady in tight leggings and a tank-top ,which clearly showed the shape of her body, roaming with a sense of security. First, it would be those bodies and then the attention would fall upon the logos between the nipples, on the round and curvy buttocks and on the ankle high socks, and finally, on the shoes covering her often manicured feet and the toenails painted with some known or mention-able brands. And if one wished to flaunt more ,then it would be on around the head and on the wrists. Here they realized the inferiority of their own brands; who would wear Campus or Woodland? They couldn’t stand out among those firm and flauntable European and American stuff.

The habit of looking how others wear their footwear and need for possessing sturdy shoes had always been an inevitable obsession. One always valued the comfort and reliability of good shoes while jogging for miles and walking in formal attire without having to worry about shoe bites. It was after having dropped in a Nike store where a pair of trainers worth few grand got my attention, though I wished I could easily get them the concern for rising expenses arrested my mind from going any further. Another that rushed in and made me shriek was the fact that I hadn’t bought a thing for my old man, so this preoccupation hurried me out from that store and found myself going back to the place where I had been compromising my dignity among a bunch of low-life louts who took great pride in journalism of filling out forms; your creativity is utilized in the first paragraph while rewriting and then bringing in supposedly valuable lines cast as bones to the dogs by moneyed people and then concluding with the same rewriting creativity.

Since there was nothing to do except waiting for comments from those marketing people and bitching about people, one saw a different class of idlers stained with malice who produced the most degraded language which manifested the sinking person in them. Others’ humour is theirs, what was worn and displayed was on them, what was heard using was what they were capable of producing. But these low-lives louts existed in elevated areas because of the university stamped pages, the shamed-language and the clothes which covered their whorish flesh. A whore would let someone fuck her and ask her costumer to pay right away and then would have the temerity to tell her customer to fuck off so that she could wash off the stinks, the sweat and the fluids which could be infectious, but this shamed-language blabbering whore in nice clothes who said what was said before her somewhere would let someone fuck her and would ask her official customer to pay for everything and when tormented or subjugated to constant harassment would never have the courage to tell her official customer to fuck off.

To be continued..................