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lifestyle and leisure

We spend so much on luxuries, we can't afford the necessities any more.

I was in the newest super-mall in town. It was a day when the sensex had done a dive that would have qualified it for the Olympics, but strangely, all around me, I saw only prosperity; with many happy people shopping away at the utterly plush designer stores... Hey, didn't the sensex figures depress you guys today? I wondered. Looks like it had driven them out in even greater numbers to buy more fancy lifestyle stuff.
And so I have come to this conclusion: Even in the midst of life, we are in debt.
But later, in the lift going up to my flat, I bumped into Shanks. “Why so glum, Shanks?” I asked my usually cheery and witty neighbour.
“Oh, my wife and I finally figured out how to cope with our monthly food bills,” said Shanks. “One of us has to stop eating.”
Starving for luxury
Now that did seem a bit extreme. But I soon found that this is exactly what is happening to a lot of people like us. We spend so much of money on luxuries, we just can't afford the necessities any more.
And when we casually say at parties, “A lot of my money is currently tied up in the market…”, what we mean of course, is the supermarket. We dash in for a quick five minutes just to pick up, say, a humble box of cornflakes — and return an hour later with five varieties of super-powered, enzyme-fortified, fibre-boosted, crackle-enhanced breakfast cereals, a different one for each day of the week. All because the super-mom-like lady wheeling her cart just before us, picked up five such boxes.
That's why it's not a joke anymore, when we hear that these days the most expensive vehicle to operate, per mile, isn't a gas-guzzling Cadillac, but a chrome plated four-wheeler we all use regularly: the supermarket trolley.
And those annoying Joneses are not just living next door, smugly whispering “Keep up! Keep up!” They are everywhere: At those supermarket aisles in front of us, at parties, at offices, at restaurants.
And before we know it, we too want to add way more style to life, and brighten our middle-class lives. We'd much rather fix an appointment at “Niki's Hair Haven”, than drop in at the barber for a quick trim around the back; drive all the way to pick up bread from “ Le Boulangerie”, rather than send our watchman out with a bunch of change to the corner store; we'd rather spend two hours at “ Mimi's Nail Boutique” rather than quickly clip them while reading the morning's papers; and drive our beloved vehicle to “ Toni's Car Spa” for some soapy pampering, rather than hose it down ourselves on a Sunday morning.
And when we're eating out? “Yes, do get me a bottle of ‘Qua' please…” we say poshly to the waiter, perhaps believing an ad we saw on TV that this precious bottle of pure mineral water was personally filled in sleek bottles by several tiny dancing elves, living in the pristine Himalayas…and so we pay the equivalent of an entire meal for three at an idli joint just for this one bottle of water alone.
So much in a name
And, of course, the same reckless behaviour occurs when we start ordering the food. We are captivated by this description in the menu that says, “Sun-kissed, farm-fresh legumes in a nouvelle Meditteranean blend, grilled to a perfect crisp in a gentle dip of bakery-fresh crumbs, embellished with spring-dew cilantro and tomatino”; whose common name is, of course, the vegetable cutlet. (My maid Hamsa makes these with leftovers, in a jiffy.) However, we wait 45 minutes in this elegant restaurant, and finally two tiny brown circles arrive in a huge white square designer plate, there's a zig-zag line of sauce along the side, a tiny sprig of coriander, and a tomato decoration skilfully cut and shaped to look like the Sydney Opera House. “Wow!” we exclaim. It's all so much like being the judges in Master Chef Australia! But there are strong chances we are going to be eating curd-rice as soon as we get home, so that we don't wake up hungry in the middle of the night. Or to combat the heart-burn we may feel, when we think of that bill we paid in the end.
Despite these experiences, I am already filled with curiosity about a new upscale hotel that's serving ‘authentic street foods of India'. What an idea, sir-ji. Basic, non-fancy food, but with five-star cleanliness and comfort! The whole gang is planning to go there for a good gobble for our next celebration, but their bill that will gobble our money may well make us wonder if the ‘street' referred to here is Dalal Street.
Meanwhile, those fabulous stores in the mall are continuing to stock up the goodies, luring us in all the time.
No wonder my pal Shanks has begun to feel that he has too much month left over at the end of his money.
Indu Balachandran is a travel columnist. Email: indubee8@yahoo.co.in