It had been ages since I’d gone actual, physical shopping. You know, the kind where you leave the house, walk into shops, touch clothes, look at price tags. You like something but you don’t buy it (because something better is always waiting around the corner), so you walk some more, look at more clothes, decide that the first shop was indeed the best, and then go back only to discover that you can’t remember exactly which shop it was. So you begin all over again.
My brand of shopping involves scrolling through endless options online from the comfort of my bed, finding something I like, click, click, click, and I’m done. Or, in the direst of circumstances, making a beeline for exactly what I want (more like need), picking it up if it’s there and walking out if it isn’t. And that’s that.
The walking, the browsing, the deciding, or rather, the not deciding… ugh! That’s my undoing. My mother is like that, and then, cleanly skipping a generation (mine), the crazy gene found its way to my daughter.
Which is how I got dragged along by her in preparation for the upcoming garba nights.
And I have to confess, I discovered a fascinating world out there. Skirts, tops, belts, bangles, earrings, more skirts, more bangles… enough colours, sequins and pretty things to make your head spin. Who knew getting dressed for a few nights of dancing required this kind of planning? This was less shopping for garba and more preparing for a wedding.
The daughter, of course, was in her element. There was much deliberation, trying on, mixing and matching, and the inevitable ‘Mumma, how do I look?’
To which I supplied my expert opinion: ‘You always look lovely.’
And she does. Aren’t all twenty-something girls just lovely? Fresh-faced, pretty, with that sweet, unspoilt quality about them? (Also, I’m allowed to be teeny bit biased. I’m her mother.)
Anyway, that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. I got a rather exasperated, ‘Mamaaaa!’ from her.
Clearly, you always look lovely wasn’t it.
So, the next time, I pretended to study her outfit more carefully. I looked her up and down, fiddled with her dupatta a little, adopted a suitably thoughtful expression and then gave her the same answer, minus the ‘always’.
‘You look lovely.’
That seemed to satisfy her.
I really am a quick learner (Pat on the back for self).
My role, as I eventually understood it, was to offer moral support, provide a second opinion when required, and occasionally remind her that we were, in fact, shopping for just one night of dandiya. One night. One outfit.
But you know what? I rather enjoyed the experience.
There is something to be said for stepping away from screens and actually being out there. The place was buzzing with shoppers, shops bursting with colour, and the sheer energy of it all was infectious. I have to admit, it was fun. Most of all, N’s enthusiasm was so contagious that even protests from my feet couldn’t quite dampen my spirits.
My favourite bit, though, came after the shopping was done.
Sitting across from a happy, satisfied daughter at Marz-o-rin, sipping cold coffee, eating sandwiches and watching the world go by. Just the two of us, a leisurely break, and the satisfaction of having survived a shopping expedition.
The daughter’s idea of a successful outing involved the bags we carried home. Mine involved the cold coffee and sandwiches.
Well, we all have our things, right?
Although, I must confess, I have a good mind to go shopping all on my own one of these days.
That’s how much of a changed person I am.
Or perhaps I just want to go back to Marz-o-rin.