Saturday, May 10, 2014

Not A Material Girl!

I  am just back from that dreadful house of horrors that people lovingly call the mall! I flop down on my soft comfy couch and wave upon wave of tiredness wash over me.

My daughter takes me on this monthly ritual saying she needs to get this or that, and I, like the sacrificial goat, drag my feet behind her, hypnotized by glitzy display upon display of consumer durables.



But I dread this material goods train I am forced to take even if it’s just an occasional one!

My clothes have always been limited and usually from a particular brand that makes no-nonsense fits. I have always owned just one or two pairs of comfortable foot wear, my loyal brand of walking shoes and one functional carry bag! My jewellery collection is limited today to only silver and stones, that’s because I think yellow metal is overrated anyway!

For me, lounge clothes or home wear should be tattered and old because those are the real snuggy ones. You can never get that feel off any shelf, they have to be worn year after year to be comfortable! I also think crockeries don’t need to match, nor is it important to have perfectly color coordinated upholstery to feel at home!

I haven't always been this way. My mental phobia was not this serious, not to this extend! I have never shared this with anyone before today, And it’s difficult even to explain. Every time I am at such a shopping mecca a dreadful feeling takes over me.




 

Firstly, I am appalled at the bulk of consumer goods that are there. I mean why  should I part with my hard earned money when I don’t need another pair of denims just because it is flared at the bottom and even has dreadful shiny pockets? An insistent sales girl says I have blemishes and pushes a cream under my nose, but I like my blemishes and don’t want them gone, thank you! She insists I need an anti-aging cream, but what’s so bad about aging? This verbal tug of war goes on and on, no prizes for guessing who wins in the end!
 

Secondly, after drifting in and out of shining show-rooms for about an hour, I start to get terribly home-sick (yes really, I do)! I start to miss my cosy bedroom, my serene and snug home. I wish I was reading a book or watching a movie on TV, instead of being here where 360 degree mirrors show up all my flaws and make me loosen my purse strings,  to carry home yet another piece of garment that I am told is just the right color for my skin tone!

And then at last, when we are finally headed back home, the shanty houses outside the parking lot always make me regret having spent even a rupee in that chilled and sanitized plaza and having been over-powered by a moment of thoughtless impulsiveness!


 
 
My daughter says I am the last of the breed of anti-consumerists, but then how do I explain that it is the anguish I feel at the end of every shopping trip, that I have slowly over the years decided to end the ordeal itself. I now prefer to face her cacophony, rather then follow the pied piper and end up losing my sanity in that modern day Godzilla! 

 


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