Bandra Linking Road

Walking is good for health, or so many believe. I too decided to test the waters but not for something as meaningless as engaging my cardiovascular system intensively or to increase the much required calorie deficit (I’m lovely, thank you very much). Not a fool to get entrapped by all this medical imprudence, I decided to walk for a much bigger cause…shopping(don’t know if they have a medical term for that!)
So together with my butt toning Reebok which are known for their significant physiological impact on muscles(it’s still in the name of fashion, mind you!) I set out to understand the fuss about a continent called the Bandra Linking Road.

I wandered from stall to stall morphing into Sindbad trying to find treasure, I observed hawkers engaging in marketing activities that could put the Blue Ocean Strategy to shame. There on the very streets, being sold were dresses from Armani(yeah rite!) ‘jeansh pant’ that he insisted ‘maidum aapko bhi fit ayega’(he said it like he had a miracle piece there!), clutches & handbags right out of a Gurinder Chadda wedding scene, Ladeej handkerchief’s and some even for your ‘Mr.’ What amused me most about these stalls was that, 90% of them sold 80% of the same products while still challenging better quality than that of their brethren. All practice the ‘fixed rate system’, with items starting at Rs.500 but with a lot of patience and perseverance can change owners for Rs.150 finally!

Don’t get me wrong like any hot blooded girl I too get orgasmic at the sound of ‘sale’, but my claustrophobia does not allow me to stay in one place long enough to find a bargain, clothes piled up like electronics in a Chinese dump yard fright me, the sweltering heat was not making anything better, I staggered along, feeling the weight of the war. Mothers shopped for shinning bangles and hair clips amidst other glitterati. Husbands gave opinions on clothes they deemed unfit for an evening out with the family, kids ran around covered in remains of popcorn, ice-cream topped with sweat. Ronald McDonalds appeared as if being attacked by the aliens!

To shake off the trail of fried kebabs and Punjabi cholle in the air, I walked into a few stores that promised air-conditioning, 20% sale even on ‘fresh stock’ and ‘everything must go’! The sad part is even the latest offerings were two seasons old. As I walked on, tempted to buy a massage for Rs. 20, I got groped by a sick pervert. Imagining a sci-fi film, I grabbed the head massager, and with lightening speed thrust the metallic tentacles into his groin, turning it clockwise and anticlockwise, in no preferred order, while releasing simultaneous short periods of screeches at a ten. As everyone applauded the verdict, he fell to the floor in indescribable pain.
I started the sentence with ‘imagining’ didn’t I? The bastard obviously got away to prepare himself for the incurable skin eczema I wished upon him.

Disgusted by the very limited unfolding of an unlimited experience, I decided to buy something before hailing my pumpkin ride.
Staring at a frozen scene from the Paranormal Activity a friend noted: piracy helps fund terrorism. Vexed by the thought of being responsible for a bomb being made somewhere, another friend offered a totally different point of view, ‘…and dubbies..’ the smile was also passed on as a skipping DVD played on in the background.