I must admit, I quite like malls. There is something about recycled climate-controlled air mixing with the smell of fair trade coffee beans and destructive capitalism that really turns me on. Where else can you feel good about paying a 1000% mark-up for the same bag of popcorn that you can buy from the 8-year-old stray dog bitten orphan in your local market? Where else can you get the sense of importance at being begged to take a pamphlet from a Rocket Singh wannabe who spent 12 lakhs on an unrecognised MBA degree? Where else can you stand on the 2nd floor balcony and spit out pieces of chewing gum hoping they land in an auntie’s cleavage filled petticoat like an Olympic diver scoring a perfect 10? Where else can you bite into freshly micro waved doughnuts while groups after groups of teeny women walk in front of you as if it were a La Perla Summer Collection special?
Heck, add to that the 100% power backup and option of having your testicles rubbed by the security guard at the front gate as many times as you want, and malls are the closest
will get to a Vietnamese go-go bar, with CFL lighting. India
That said, walking around malls in
nowadays is like stepping into a closeted minefield of it’s blowhard bourgeoisie. Maybe nut huggers with embroidery have given men and women across the city a confidence that I was not accustomed to or familiar with – all I know is, it has led to an influx of certain kinds of people that have completely ruined my final bastion of self imposed isolation and moral depravity. Which brings me to the types of annoying people in malls: Delhi
Croc Wearers: The ugliest thing produced by man since Ashish Nehra. Seriously, what purpose do these foot condoms serve besides making squeaky noises over shiny marble flooring and desecrating the Amazon rain forest? Durable? So are hawai chappals but you don’t see anyone wearing those. Stylish? So is Lady Gaga’s makeup but you don’t see anyone imitating that. So WTF is it about these consumer versions of a biological attack that makes them so fucking popular? The last time such level of mass delusion struck the Earth, Hitler decided to invade
– and even THAT gave the world some bloody good sausages. These? These are the kinds of things that will make aliens mock us when they eventually find our remains on Earth. You would seriously want to see these in the Navi Smithsonian? The next time I find a kid sliding about in these things, he better expect his face to meet my size 13. Poland
The 'Break me, Shake me' couple: The break-up couple is a boon for still photographers since they sit at the same place next to each for hours without end – foreheads wrinkled, hands crossed interrupted by the occasional “Are you sure you cant convince your parents?” There is also an 8 out of 10 chance that they are of the same gotra. The man will be employed kinds with a solid, slightly oversized shirt completely buttoned down with cheap khakis and Indian knockoffs of Chinese knockoffs of Red Tapes (it’s not an editing mistake). The woman also, normally has a longish pigtail, boot-cut jeans with embellishments and can’t answer what a push-up bra is to save her life. You will find atleast 4-5 of these at any given point littered across a mall. If you stare at them, they will stare back and see right through you. You feel bad for them given they probably wont find anyone else for the rest of their lives, but then you notice the next category and quickly forget these couples exist.
The Facebook Model: Seriously, who gets their pictures taken in front of malls anymore? Everywhere you go, you bump into atleast 5 dumbfucks who are getting their picture taken infront of an expensive car or another hotspot at a mall. Then there are the women who curl their lips, arch their ass and put a hand on the neck while their man-friend clicks a snazzy picture to masturbate to on his Chinese Nokia clone. Does this have some defacto rishtaa implications? If you marry me I’m going to take you to the KFC instead of that Subhash fellow who can only afford ice-cream at India Gate? All I know is, the next time you get in my way, I’m telling security you’re an LeT member on a recce mission. God knows you look the part.
Escalator #Fail’s: Look, it’s a goddamn escalator, not a level out of Super Mario 5. If you’re poor and have never used an escalator before, use the fucking stairs. If you’re fat and can’t use the stairs, put the goddamn gelato down, get some liposuction and stay at home. If you insist on standing on the left and blocking people’s way, don’t complain when I stick your face in the gap between the escalator and the point where you get off. If you’re going to imitate Usain Bolt and try and run down an escalator moving upwards, I will push you to your eventual death. Just shut the fuck up, get on top of one of the stairs, stay on the right and stop staring at people going down the other side. Assholes.
Mooby Uncles and Fanties(TM) with visible panty lines: I can understand the need to look modern. Maybe your fellow friends at the kitty party are all dawning Hillary like pant suits. Maybe you want to look cool in front of your kids by showing them that you are “with it”. But seriously, check your fashion disasters at home and put some traditional clothing on. I DO NOT want to look at visible panty lines from your ill-stitched pants. I DO NOT want to see you walking towards me wolfing down muffins from
It is not nice to freak out hundreds of shoppers just in case you decide to get gas or a heart attack at that particular point. There is not enough security staff to be able to carry you and yes, I have a problem if you treat your body like the national granary of Cookie Man. . Somalia
Marketing Mascots: Maybe its just me, but I’m not a fan of men in suits pretending to be 7 ft tall dogs, elephants and other such animals. Frankly, my first instinct is to trip them, followed by ripping off their masks and delivering a spine-shattering tombstone pile-driver. I don’t give a shit if you’re selling an air-conditioner. I don’t need your pamphlet telling me about the 64 ways I can get diabetes. I will not contribute to your cause of helping sick guinea pigs escape from the clutches of Parsi aunties in
. I don’t want to buy juice from you when your fucking mask doesn’t even have a hole to drink a pack with a straw. So seriously - stop freaking the kids out and stop pretending to not know how to talk. Dogs can’t freaking stand on their hind legs for 12 hours anyway. Just be glad I haven’t reported your Gujjar ass to your panchayat. We’ll see if you still consider yourself a man then. Bombay
Overzealous Employees: Dear manager at Music World, what is the point of installing so many CCTV’s and RF detectors in the store if you are going to have employees tailing me all the time to ensure that I don’t steal your merchandise? It’s a goddamn Himesh CD – no one except the Ruby Tuesday’s DJ from Gurgaon would want to steal it. You should be happy that someone still walks through your door in an attempt to coerce themselves into buying something. But if you’re going to get me hounded by a minimum-wage, Zardari-esque smile flashing pre-pubescent freak asking if I need “help”, you best believe I am taking my business to Palika Bazaar.
Coffee-shop Consultants: Look, it’s a coffee shop, not your freaking office. People go there to chill, enjoy a cuppa, flip through a couple of pages of their current novel, reflect at the pace at which life has left them behind and other such Friends inspired dumbfuckery. NOT to listen to your babblings on the future of Iraqi oil while you play solitaire on your computer screen without an internet connection. Just because you’re wearing a suit and have a Bluetooth receiver attached to the ear does NOT mean I will take you more seriously. It will only mean you skipped geography class when they were talking about “Seasons” and need a trip to Mehr Jessia’s finishing school to learn coffee shop etiquette.
As you can see, malls are becoming an increasingly gut-wrenching investment when it comes to spending quality time and preserving one’s sanity. And while our mall culture does give me immense happiness sometimes (Like at the Great India Palace in Noida recently, where Hrithik Roshan and Barbara Mori got Dalit-handled for unleashing a bundle of dry camel turd called Kites) I’m seriously contemplating taking my business to the only other place in Delhi where you can see rats for cheaper. The zoo.