Ever thought that your middle class roots have ruined you?
Me neither.
Still middle class for the record.
If you're a TV-owning individual with decent browsing habits, you would have seen Sarabhai v/s Sarabhai (a landmark of good programming but it is a lament which requires a blog post afresh). You would have been acquainted with Maya, the Sarabhai matriarch sass and speaker of anti-middle class tirades. You would have cringed but admittedly found it funny when she let loose a slew of middle-class conduct that she found horrific. Where'd the creators come up with that list, anyway? It seems like they spent their whole lives compiling it.
Thrift is definitely the first lesson that was taught/engrained/bored into my mind/being/soul. My parents were freelancers (and likely will be) their whole lives. It's either feast or famine in such a choice so you obviously do the smart thing by spending on essentials, without going into Mohnisha Sarabhai mode (Maya's miserly daughter-in-law, bane of contention, beacon of extreme middle classiyat).
So everytime I chance upon an exorbitant price tag on food/wearable items/stuff I can't even describe, my immediate reaction is to convulse and roll on the ground until there is a tunnel deep enough for me to crawl in to take me home. At least that way, I beat the city's rush hour. #SilverLinings
Seriously, though. You show me a thing of expense, it better be a thing of beauty too. Or sheer delectableness (am I doing this right?). No sir, I will not partake of your coffee which costs me a lung or a puny European serving which will fetch two kidneys and a heart valve unless Zeus himself is serving me, impeccable apron in place (seeing as Zeus is essentially in the raw, wearing an apron won't hurt).
It doesn't hurt to want and get nice things. That's why it's okay to have a regular paying job (which also has its own pitfalls but that is also another lament for an entire series of books). "So what are you going to buy?" my folks ask. "Rubber bands. I'm running out." They exchange a look of 'hai, gareeb aatma' but I have a lot of hair. On my scalp, while we're being specific.
I don't enjoy spending all that much. Outside food does my exterior (or posterior...) no favours, clothes will not fit if said proportion(s) are not maintained. Two pleasures that are at odds with each other. Wow, such sad.
"Own experiences, not things, baby," said a sagely elder to me before browsing for GIFs on her smartphone again. Great plan. I look at foreign destinations. Everything looks so much cheaper when you're looking at the numerals in $ and € without converting it to our own freaking devalued currency. (WHY GOD WHY, this entitled millenial shrieks).
I type this entire post on a laptop gifted to me six years ago, with WiFi in my room seated on a bed as old as me, but oh, so comfortable. Meanwhile, in third world continents, the seven countries banned by Trump, in USA, the world, the whole freaking galaxy, chaos reigns supreme as it must while we sit in our individual worlds, pondering over our next move and how much life sucks.
Still want them nice things, tho.
And now that my 1AM brain has done smearing this white space with text, I can finally prepare for bed. There's work to be done tomorrow, mild soul-searching, a walk under the sky and yet another film to be watched. Know where to look and some of these nice things come for free.
Me neither.
Still middle class for the record.
If you're a TV-owning individual with decent browsing habits, you would have seen Sarabhai v/s Sarabhai (a landmark of good programming but it is a lament which requires a blog post afresh). You would have been acquainted with Maya, the Sarabhai matriarch sass and speaker of anti-middle class tirades. You would have cringed but admittedly found it funny when she let loose a slew of middle-class conduct that she found horrific. Where'd the creators come up with that list, anyway? It seems like they spent their whole lives compiling it.
Thrift is definitely the first lesson that was taught/engrained/bored into my mind/being/soul. My parents were freelancers (and likely will be) their whole lives. It's either feast or famine in such a choice so you obviously do the smart thing by spending on essentials, without going into Mohnisha Sarabhai mode (Maya's miserly daughter-in-law, bane of contention, beacon of extreme middle classiyat).
So everytime I chance upon an exorbitant price tag on food/wearable items/stuff I can't even describe, my immediate reaction is to convulse and roll on the ground until there is a tunnel deep enough for me to crawl in to take me home. At least that way, I beat the city's rush hour. #SilverLinings
Seriously, though. You show me a thing of expense, it better be a thing of beauty too. Or sheer delectableness (am I doing this right?). No sir, I will not partake of your coffee which costs me a lung or a puny European serving which will fetch two kidneys and a heart valve unless Zeus himself is serving me, impeccable apron in place (seeing as Zeus is essentially in the raw, wearing an apron won't hurt).
It doesn't hurt to want and get nice things. That's why it's okay to have a regular paying job (which also has its own pitfalls but that is also another lament for an entire series of books). "So what are you going to buy?" my folks ask. "Rubber bands. I'm running out." They exchange a look of 'hai, gareeb aatma' but I have a lot of hair. On my scalp, while we're being specific.
I don't enjoy spending all that much. Outside food does my exterior (or posterior...) no favours, clothes will not fit if said proportion(s) are not maintained. Two pleasures that are at odds with each other. Wow, such sad.
"Own experiences, not things, baby," said a sagely elder to me before browsing for GIFs on her smartphone again. Great plan. I look at foreign destinations. Everything looks so much cheaper when you're looking at the numerals in $ and € without converting it to our own freaking devalued currency. (WHY GOD WHY, this entitled millenial shrieks).
I type this entire post on a laptop gifted to me six years ago, with WiFi in my room seated on a bed as old as me, but oh, so comfortable. Meanwhile, in third world continents, the seven countries banned by Trump, in USA, the world, the whole freaking galaxy, chaos reigns supreme as it must while we sit in our individual worlds, pondering over our next move and how much life sucks.
Still want them nice things, tho.
And now that my 1AM brain has done smearing this white space with text, I can finally prepare for bed. There's work to be done tomorrow, mild soul-searching, a walk under the sky and yet another film to be watched. Know where to look and some of these nice things come for free.
