Another Saturday afternoon. Suddenly discovering that he does not have to go back to work after lunch, my husband snaps his fingers. “Let’s go shopping!” He says. “I have nothing to wear these days…”
The store is almost empty. Salesmen fight sleep after lunch.
My husband cannot decide between 2 pairs of trousers and 3 tee shirts. Confused, he decides to try them all & disappears into the changing room, with strict instructions to me, to stay right outside, so he does not have to hunt me down for my opinion, wearing clothes which sprout labels from all sides.
Left to my own devices, I browse through some jazzy shirts.
“Hey! This will look great on you!”
Startled, I turn around.
A middle-aged man, accompanied by two middle-aged ladies. A girl just-into-her-teens gapes. The more flamboyant of the ladies holds up colorful shirt to the man. The quiet one passively watches.
Finally having found something to interest me, I study the small group surreptiously, taking care not to stare.
This is one of the most enjoyable games I indulge myself in, when I have to wait around. People watching. I try to guess who they are, what their relationship is and what can be their story.
This one is curious. Is this is a middle aged couple and their daughter, out shopping with his visiting sister? I look at them closely. No! Absolutely no resemblance. Or maybe it’s her sister. Little chance of that too, since they lack the closeness shared by most sisters.
Or can she be his second wife? Asks a small voice in my head.
No way!
Why not? Persists the voice. It’s not so uncommon in this part of the world for a man to live peacefully with both his wives under one roof. I have even heard of such a threesome sharing the same bedroom, and the rest of the house with a bunch of children from both the wives!
“What do you think?” My husband’s voice breaks into my reverie. He’s in a gray polo neck t-shirt and a black trousers. ‘Smart” I tell him. “But don’t you have the same Tee shirt?”
“No!” he says petulantly. “I never had something like this!” “Okay.” I say placating. He vanishes into the changing room again.
I turn my attention back to the family, but they seem to have drifted off to another part of the store. I busy myself with some formal ties.
I suddenly sense some movement behind me. Two girls walking hand in hand. One of them is extremely shy. An elderly gentleman follows them, authoritatively. Can’t be their father. And the girls, can they be sisters? And what on earth are they doing in the menswear section? And so tongue-tied and shy!
The answer strides in, very self-conscious. A young man follows the older man, shyly glancing at the blushing girl.
A-ha! A just-betrothed couple, trying to choose the wedding suit! No wonder the girl is so shy in front of her father-in-law to be! And the other girl must be her best friend, lending moral support in times of crisis like this! Who wouldn’t be nervous with such an imposing father-in-law!
Just then my husband returns with an armful of clothes.
“Can I just run up to the bookstore? Please?” I ask him. Without waiting for his answer I charge up the stairs.
Browsing through the latest best seller, I spot the curious family in the adjacent coffee shop. Relaxed, they lounge with a cup in their hands. The flamboyant woman is enthusiastically narrating something to the shy one. “…And you must have seen the teacher’s face! This Raghu, your husband was such a terror in our school days!” The girl looks at her father with great wonder.
The ‘terror’, now much tamed, balding and with a paunch is much abashed and embarrassed!
“How silly of me!” I chide myself. To think that she was his second wife! I feel really guilty.
As I reach my husband’s side at the billing counter, he holds two lovely kurtas to me. “Look what I bought you! Saw them and thought it was very ‘you’!
“Oh! They’re beautiful!” I gush. “You’re the best! Thank you!”
I see a movement in the corner of my eye.
A 20 something girl is busy inspecting some men’s’ formal wear, near the men’s changing room. She studies us surreptiously, trying not to stare.
I grab my husband’s arm.
“Let’s get out of here.” I say.
Published in Femina, June 2003 Issue
Long before my son was born and we actually had jobless saturdays!
