Diwali is here. It’s the season of Happiness, and Lights, for the optimists. It’s the Season of Sound pollution, and Air pollution for the pessimists. And for the crazy demented people who have just escaped from their regional asylums, it’s the season of shopping!
Now I’m not against shopping, I think that it’s an excellent way to seduce someone else’s girlfriend.
But I am against those frenzied shoppers that buy anything that comes their way. Clothes, Sweets, Decorations, Electronics, Pets, Cars, Oxygen Tanks, Nuclear missiles, Third World Countries, etc…
Having three humans with XX chromosomes in my family, I have to go shopping numerous times. And mostly it’s in places that are narrower than Khap community minds. So after I parallelly park my car so closely that even Ants on the ‘Easy Slim Tea’ diet wouldn’t be able to pass, I follow my mother and two sisters into the chaotic abyss of shopping lands.
In Diwali, the streets are reminiscent of Resident Evil series. People roaming around in mobs like mindless zombies, searching for their next target. Being claustrophobic, my adrenalin makes me feel like Alice and then I just want to shoot everyone in my way while giving sexy poses.
I wonder… would they have a Diwali discount on sex change operations too? Hmm…
Then I realized that I just thought of becoming a woman. I cringe badly and hit myself with a purse…
And to people who are suddenly speculating my orientation, don’t worry. I still have fantasies about Anushka Sharma that I can’t even publish here. It’s just that my mother thinks nothing exudes Machoism like a guy holding thirty two bags in one hand and three different purses in the other. So every time I end up holding all the bags and Purses while holding down my male ego like it’s a fart.
I’m even fine with the slavery, anyways I look as if I was stolen as a baby from a colonized country so it’s not a big deal. But what ticks me off is the actual part while the selection is taking place. Suddenly I feel like I’m Windows 95 with 8 bit color recognition, while everyone else around me is Windows 8 with 32 million colors recognition. Shades I don’t even know existed are suddenly thrown at my face, Eggplant, Mauve, Peach Plum, get-me-out-of-here Green and I-wanna-kill-myself-Red.
Eventually the salesmen are so peeved off that it looks like they want to stab themselves with a blunt rusted knife. Thankfully, the mountain of clothes lying ahead of us hides their angry fists (or maybe they are even giving us the finger—who knows).
And finally after demoralizing the salesman for doing a bad job, and demeaning the owner for having such a useless shop, we depart from that shop and head towards another poor unsuspecting victim.
So, driving around like a taxi driver, carrying bags around like a coolie, throwing random sarcasm like I write a humor column and finally falling face down on the floor in my house like the exhausted bunnies from Energizer Cell ads, is basically how I spend my Diwali.
For me, Diwali officially went from being the Festival of Lights, to the Festival of making our wallets light—er.
I have to go now, my hands hurt from carrying a zillion bags in each finger, my back hurts from all the driving, and my feet hurt from kicking people out of my way
I wonder…Could there be a Diwali discount at the Massage Parlor….Hmmm???