You enter the 1st store. You walk in through the electronic gate. Huge, airy, spacious. There are rows and rows of billowing fabric and stiff denims in front of you. Metal aisles and wooden frames. Embossed hangers and the hanging clothes. One row of brown, different hues of it. A little ocher, a little somber, a little rusty, a little autumn, a little casual, a little earthy. You walk up to the first collection of the rust colored cloth.Brown dresses, with an trail of white flowers bunched together likes whipped cream,weeping along the shoulders. Slit up to the knee, a tiny white button fixed on the top.Marked in all sizes, XS, S,M,L,XL. You touch one of them, and let the satin slither through your fingers, marveling at the delicate touch. You rub it between your fingers, incredulous. How soft it felt! If the fabric were words, it would have been gentle murmurs, collected together. The smell of expensive clothes, you sniff in that sterilized, blot-less, smell.
You advance, row after row after row, color after color. Here and there, on the clean blue wall-paper, majestic portraits of anorexic models staring down at you.Sculpted bodies, enamel skin, smoky eyes. An erotic pout of lips, of seductive words unsaid. Wearing clothes, that clung like a needy child to their perfect contours of womanhood. Provocative heels,that supported long parted legs, spread across a bed. The yellow never looked so better, the pink of the shorts never looked so amazing like it did on the super model, looking down at you.
The assistants lurk around like sharks- catering to the woman carrying a Gucci, then to you in your faded slippers, messed hair and an orange cloth sling. You hate the way, they have a polite disdain around you, and how they rush in practiced haste to smooth the clothes you have picked up, like reassuring a frightened child. They all wear matching shirts that have the name of the store needled in cursive across their chests. They all have a well-taught smile, of cold civility curving their lips. You hate the way, that smile warms up with abundant praises and puppy like servility to the rich class. How they run behind that fat,rich woman in shorts, her rich flaccid thighs wobbling with every step that she takes in her Zara slippers, and the CK glares that pushed her lusty black hair behind.
But you still walk around, have fun. Pick up a piece and sigh and swoon over the soigne look it imparted. You stand in front of the huge mirrors.Ceiling to floor. Lighted in a way, that it makes your skin look pearly, the acne faded. Your legs look longer, you arms look thinner, and you can almost see yourself as one of those snotty perfect models. You place the dress over your mix-matched outfit of harems and teeshirt, and wonder at your reflection. How classy you look!
The next store seemed like an explosion of Spring.A riot of lace, frills, gauze. The fabric was more shimmery here, more of life. Sylphlike.Frothy frills of pink and abundance of peach thrown around everywhere, that it delights your heart. There are skirts with hems of tulle, and shirts with pretty, spring flowers dotting them. Carefree blue denims hung from the walls. It seemed like spring had rained its choicest collection of warm, summer colors all over. Even the black looked coy and colorful. Hair-bands with satin flowers and chains with magical charms dangling from them. Belts with a fusion of hearts studding them, ornaments in fuchsia. The lighting is of muted gold, and fountains of yellow light focus on every part of the room. Twinkling wind-chimes of interleaved silver strands and tiny bells dotted the ceiling. Here and there, a golden butterfly sat glazed on the white shelves.
So much ! It was almost your weekly spendings! Your face falls, you decide to move on to the next row of strawberry tee-shirts. Suddenly the tiny tribal girl, the store assistant comes up and whispers the magic word to you. "Ma'am, its on a 70%sale". Oh the joy! Oh the joy of a sale! You quickly slide the dress off its hanger and rush into the waiting room. No doors, just separate rooms with rich,velvet curtains of red. You size up the other girls in line. A college going student with her chattering friend. An aloof married lady.
Your turn comes, you get into the room, put the curtain firmly in place. You slid out of your attire. The trial room magnifies all your flaws, that cut on your back looked hideous, and the little bit of un-waxed skin looked like a hairy bear. Multiple reflections of your crowding and mutely screaming at you. You hurriedly slide the dress in. And stare at your multiple selves. Just about perfect!
The other stores beg out to you, but you are tired. You stand on the escalator and let the moving grey steps, take you to the food court. You are still aware of the numerous eyes on you, it almost tingles your skin to goosebumps. A cute guy with a mop of black fringes, looks down at you from the 3rd floor. You resist the urge to smile and be content with just giving him a piercing look. His eyes follows you, till you disappear. You have reached the merry medley of eating joints.
I need to write more, but I am tired. Its 6am :) Ill continue again.
Have a merry Monday :)