I read that it all started when “man” felt the need to exchange goods—really, now you want me to buy that Bengalis don’t eat fish, or that fishes don’t eat fish?
Shopping –etymology…  akin ‘not similar to reading’ A.K.A ‘making women happy’. As if ‘ing’ is another language combined, just to say the same thing with extra syllables. One of the words, which I think, came into existence on the lines of reading, dancing, drumming, walking, and running, and so on, and hence shopping.

I wonder sometimes if so many people really shop at the same time, and that lots of them are just shills exchanging looks. But shopping is a really good place to observe the culture, see what the “middle” classers are up to.  I love to eavesdrop on lot of conversations. There was a time (a short period) when I loved going out for shopping with family since you can act as if you just came here on being insisted and then you try to flirt with women (please don’t take it as advice, it’s a bad idea). But I have had my disasters, I have been asked out by stranger men, yes!! I don’t know what part of my beautiful sculpture triggered those men to think that I am a gay or bisexual—I had even asked this to one of the them, and he walked away like a strange woman whom I had asked “you look familiar”–”give me break”, an unsaid voice rebounds when men fall for such cheap tricks.

In many ways, going out for shopping has boosted my patience levels as good as anything (waiting for constipation to ease a close 2nd). Patience is virtue, about a year ago; I practically had none of it, but now, I have patience to be patient, and shopping is one of those tools that can refine the art of some-kind-of-laity.

So:

You enter the shopping mall, really positive, looks promising, it isn’t that crowded, you lie to yourself

You very enthusiastically move around the floor as if you own the floor (knowing that it will own you in sometime), what a cute doll there, you smile with a mouth open like a round plate (almost not knowing that you are faking that one)

Your woman (whatever the relation might be) asks for opinion—and again—you do it again, you advice her with intent as if she really is seeking your advice.

Now you start feeling little bit queasy as you see that floor is  filled up with people left and right, so many, that you can barely walk 2 meters without worrying about smelling sweat or rubbing someone’s ass.

Now enough of romanticism! You start thinking about reasons why people are here. You look around, watching, scanning people’s clothes, looking for signs of threadbare-ness on fagged bodies, but your intelligence is insulted again, as always.

You slowly start showing the feeling by talking to the salesman, the billing guy at the counter, trying to provoke them, skillfully, trying to entice them into a verbal banter, so that you can vent your entire frustration on the poor but chosen guy. But sadly, everybody in the mall is just too nice; nobody says anything, even when you call them motherfucker son of a bitch (yes, at least here in India).

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Shopping for self is even trickier; we cannot waffle out of the scene. It is damn tiring, especially for people like me who have to try everything that the woman accompanying hands over, if not for that, we would take the left turn to the nearest pub instead of landing in a shopping hub. I am usually frog-marched around at gunpoint; otherwise I would never agree to watch the life-size lady dummies without bras. I sometimes get ideas for mission-shuffling, where, my army would spread across the world’s shopping malls, and shuffle across haphazardly from one item on to another to confuse people who are inside the shopping centers. First rule of shuffle-club would be: you shuffle; second rule of shuffle-club would be: you are still shuffling, and third rule: you are just too dumb, you better do shopping.

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I wonder what all these people are thinking, are they just thinking about buying the next article, or are they equally frustrated like me about being there. Worst part is that most of the shopping sails happen on Sunday, that’s my fun day. I wake up really early on Sundays (at 5 or so) and I savor each and every second of the morning, the morning, which doesn’t know that it’s going to be handcuffed by afternoon and raped by an evening.

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I wonder how women can glide effortlessly through the clumsy blocks of clothes that all appear to be same unless you’re a woman. My legs become unyielding in rows made by grotesque things on either side, I stumble way too often, of course all that in the mind, if I had my way in the shopping malls, my photo would be stuck outside all the major shopping centers.

Worst part: you might scan the entire mall for an Ex with whom you had bad breakup. It isn’t that bad, but still, you don’t want to think about all that in the mall, watching different people in front you, you possibly bump into someone while doing that (imagine if it turns out to be you Ex!). Already intrigued at the amount of choice presented, totally contrasts life—really? I guess that is the whole point why women shop, beautiful women know they don’t have much choice with lousy and ugly men like me, with whom they anyways have to adjust, so they like to choose, feel good– I can certainly feel how they feel after entering such huge buildings filled with choices!! It may be one of the ways to feel less insecure, feeling the warm air that comes out of the closet full of clothes begging to be put on, and shoes crying to be rubbed into the ground.

It is difficult to explain the guys about what I am are looking for. They always assume, they are looking to sell, and it is very difficult to sell things to people like me. I see the happiness on the faces of the helpers who feel they have done a good job, they are happy like a dog who thinks he staved clear a person who was going to attempt to rob his masters house, but dogs do not know that people can just take a walk outside in the night.

I become really paranoic sometimes, the mannequin’s kept on the stores, they always stare at me, I don’t know why I feel that they can see through me; they know shopping is not my thing. And sometimes I fear that some dead body will pop out from the pile of clothes and say “April fool” to dead body (as a result of the heart attack caused by the shock). But one thing’s for sure, they do know the secret, they just don’t speak, every time I cut a corner, I again watch intently, feeling like almost talking to one of them, thinking they will respond, but they won’t, I realize and I move on.

But it isn’t fair, on us men, when we go and accompany women on every shopping adventure–we should be at least be sought a customary word when women shop for lingerie, we should be allowed to enter the shop and allowed to have a peek. In fact, most of the lingerie shops here in India are attended by men, would you believe it? If that happens, I would set myself up with a six blade knife (for stress testing of the bras in the stores)—I would feel victorious, like a king in women’s world? I would conquer the satiny bras, the lacy bras, as wells as the lightly lined, and I would get lost in the wilderness of the bras with 36 (and a fourth way through the alphabets, repeated) written all over my face.

I usually buy when I don’t intend to buy, it doesn’t mean I buy food when I am not hungry, or when I think I will not be hungry for the next one month, or say I don’t shop for condoms when I know that I am not going to be laid for the next month (but how can one know about that? Women might be shopping out there!). Shopping is something I don’t want to get good at, but a percent of a life is still, very much, given. The other day, the screen on the wall behind the billing counter had animals running around in the discovery channel. I suddenly wished it was night, so that I could make a wish, wish to be animal in this one sense, the sense of need to lack that feeling, the feeling to….

I have learnt one thing in a short life span so far: I can have differences when it comes to women: I can disagree about the existence of god, I might even talk them into not having kids for five years after marriage (again, really, I am optimistic that some one will marry me, ok, I admit, chances of that happening are really thin), I might even trick them into believing in a erogenous zone that doesn’t exist, but I have learned never ever to argue about one thing, yeah, you got it.

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Notes:

Although for the simplicity of the post I have retained the tone as if only women love shopping, I know men (who according to me are becoming more and more feminine (at least back here)) who love to shop to these days (yeah, kind of insulting)

Also, I re-read the post, and the way it started (with etymology and stuff), it promised to present the truth, the real existence of life beyond everything, the truth that we all long to know (something beyond evolution), but I am sorry that I couldn’t deliver.

Yeah, there are other kinds of shopping, but clothes are the only thing I could deal with here.