Gonna get lucky tonight

I was at a mall yesterday, in a store that sells teenaged girls’ clothing to middle-aged Indian women. What I call, aspirational clothes. Trousers that look so good on the chic mannequins that you will forget you have cellulite, and will try them on any way. Delusional Dresses that you will try on, sigh and struggle to take off before promising to get back on the treadmill the next morning. The trial rooms at most of these stores are meant to test your faith in paratha. You walk in with an armful of hope and walk out heartbroken. Nothing is what it seems to be — and bulges, layers, paunches that usually lay concealed, suddenly make their presence felt. 

Often, there will be a man waiting outside, planted by the woman herself who will ask for his opinion and never want it. The role of most of these men is to nod, not say anything, and just play along. The best response to “Is this looking good on me?” is to look very interested, and wait for the woman herself to decide. 

Sometimes, when the dress in question is a sexy one — meant for a honeymoon trip, a resort vacation, a cocktail party or simply an anniversary — the conversations get interesting. The woman in question will either seek approval in his eyes, or lust. She would like to tease him, offer glimpses of what is in store for him. This becomes particularly tricky for the guy. He cannot get obviously excited — it is a public space after all. And neither can he appear uninspired. He has to come up with a measured, tactical response — something that will make her happy and give her the impression that she has him by the lust leash. Most importantly, something that will end up the shopping nightmare on a happy note.

So while I tried on my trousers — starting with an aspirational size and moving on to the actual one — a couple played this game of trial-and-error next to me. It was obviously a special occasion that they were shopping for — the woman was trying on all the sheer, lacy and racy tops and dresses she could lay her hands on. 

“How do I look?” she asked him on one occasion, pushing out her breasts and sucking in her tummy in a two-size-too-small number. Her companion, who was until then busy with his phone, smiled, nodded and said nothing. She turned this way and that, pushed out her bums a bit and asked again, “Not looking fat, na?” The guy walked up to her and whispered something into her ears. It was obviously something that she wanted to hear because even before I could find a pair of trousers that fit, they had paid and left. 

Someone’s gonna get lucky tonight!

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