The Matter that Matters

The salesperson at John Lewis repeated the final statement twice, just to make sure. And I suspect it was nothing to do with his British bearings. The British have this peculiar habit of answering any question by first repeating the question. There is nothing dim-witted about it; infact it is a very clever strategy. It has the advantage of beguiling the other person with a very long and impressive answer though it is only fifty percent productive!

This person’s reaction however had a different source. As an employee to a major retailer on London’s famed Oxford Street, I imagine that he must have been quite used to people treating him like a museum curator- looking cautiously into the shelves, and then barraging him with questions about something that they otherwise have no plan to buy. Infact I had long been in that pestilential category; disappointing many a sales assistant with hopeful questions on ipods, cell phones, cameras, books, and at the climactic moment giving a quick ‘Thank You’ to tell him or her that my debit card was off their limits!

This time, it was quite different. My father very casually asked about camcorders. Telling him that he wasn’t too sure which one to buy. The sales person guided us mechanically through the shelves of camcorder exhibits, each one as if curling itself up in a tight cocoon of compactness and economy. His final stop was a resplendent Sony model in steel and black, where his guided tour demanded a recitation of the camcorder’s excellent features. While he went on nonchalantly with the zoom, mega-pixels, screen, looks, hard-drive....my father cut him mid-way, saying, “That’s okay; we will buy it.”

“Right......” replied the salesman, suddenly appearing to take his job seriously for the first time. “So,you want to buy it! Okay, so why don’t you pay on that counter sir; and then collect it from the customer service desk on the ground floor. If you show this receipt...............”
I don’t think my father had any choice. The fact is that we are leaving London in about a month. And fanciful tales of frequent flyers entangled in time zones does not really apply to our modest family. So most of us have already prepared ourselves for the inevitability that as the plane will taxi itself to the runway of Heathrow airport, it would be the last we will see of this disciplined land in a very long time to come.

Ordinarily, it should be time to feel sad.
But then that’s such a waste of time. There’s infact no better time to get busy!

Belonging to an Air India household for the past twenty two years; I was quite used to listening to stories of officials coming back from foreign postings and decorating their living rooms into a mini inspirational model of the imperial Victoria and Albert museum. Now, as I observe our house in London get cluttered with impressive boxes and wrappings of cameras, camcorders, laptops, cutlery, clothes, watches.....I have a feeling that our Mumbai flat is all set to become a very crowded place to live in. Every day has become a frenzied shopping extravaganza, and much to my mother’s ecstatic delight; there is seldom a day that does not end with pushing the door open with large departmental stores’ bags biting into the palms.

And it’s not just to do with shopping. In every discernible activity; there is the feeling that ‘It’s the last time. Make the most of it!’ Statues of semi-clad angels agonisingly stretching over ceilings and gateways; large framed photos of kings, queens and their family; palatial palaces on public display; parks; memorials; museums; theatres; skidding over river Thames in a ferry that could easily put our speed boats to shame; Madam Tussads; standing foolishly on the Greenwich Mean Time line, trying to feel historic.......it is a trek that can easily make you allergic to archaic objects for a long time.

“Paris, Italy, Spain, Switzerland, Austria, Belgium....and where was that other place...yes- Germany!”- the demure recital of one of my friends did not surprise me. She simply joined the long list of Indians here who believe in the sacrosanctity of a Europe tour all gulped down in one orgiastic schedule, before the visa for London expires. These are after all places where all Indians salivate to visit; and once visited, proudly brag about them in communal gatherings with a sufficiently loud voice, intercepted by an occasional belch originating from their overloaded plate. Coming to London, and not visiting Europe is akin to a touristic hara-kiri!

These are indeed turbulent times. No, I am not talking of the economy, stupid! I am talking of all these trips into British history, or with dinosaurs at the Natural History Museum, or digging my teeth into a delightfully warm Belgian baguette on Bond Street; or worse of all, waiting for a shopping list to be ticked with bureaucratic lethargy. All these have managed to evoke one universal reaction—namely hitting the bed with a violence that otherwise came after a hard day at the university.

But the reality has yet to sink in. That what is turbulent is indeed the economy, and in this Alice-In-Wonderland world; I am being the stupid person! Soon after all these sights and sounds have been photographed, recorded, shared, tagged and labelled; after every suitcase has been strenously zipped through sheer human perseverance; and after the final hug has been exchanged..........

.....the same stewardess on flight who will mention "The outside temperature is 15 degree celsius"; will ten hours later, on reaching Mumbai be mentioning, "We have landed at the Chatrapati Shivaji Intenational Terminus. The outside temperature is 33 degree celsius......"

The heat will be turned on. Figuratively and literally. And something tells me that the expensive camcorder whose purchase helped make the day for the salesman in London; will come of little aid then!