The first thing that I noticed about him was his eyes. They were set, rigidly, on the jewelled brooch that was on display outside the shop. From where I was standing, I could see the security guard giving him a wry look, his hand casually resting on the baton attached to his side belt. Of course, he thought that the fellow meant trouble. But my years as a sales assistant at the jewellery store made me see something quite different.
The piece was beautiful and had attracted attention of several men and women alike since the time it had been put on display. It was a clever marketing gimmick by the shop owner or whoever put these ideas in his head. Right outside the walls of the shop, encased behind glass with softly dimmed lights shining on it, was the piece that had captured the imagination of several youth in the area and of course the heart of almost every young women who looked at it.
I had been a sales assistant here for several years. Having no real ambition or purpose, I had not worked hard unlike my colleagues who were achieving heights in their life, or so I think. I was more than content with my job at the store. I dressed up every morning, the same routine every day, except if I was on a holiday. I would get up in the morning, take a shower. It did not matter if the water was luke-warm or hot or cold even. Like most of the things in my life, this was another unnecessary detail that I did not really care about. I would dress in a clean white shirt, starched stiff and then put on a jacket. Store policies made it mandatory for everyone to wear a jacket so that we seemed more effluent than we actually were.
A day at the store was usually dull. Brief smiles to the customers. A professionally neutral face. A more generous smile to the ladies. Especially the ones who were almost about to buy. Pay a few complements. Smile and tell them how good their choice was, even if the piece looked hideous on them. Advise the men on what to buy based on their fantasies. And the likes…then of course, send them packing with my commission taken into account. It was drilled into it. It seemed to me some time that I was actually born for this job. It all seemed effortless. The one thing that I always kept in mind was never to take it personally. If they couldn't buy it, they couldn't buy it. I don’t make these things, I don’t put a price tag on it. I just sell it or rather help sell it and pocket my fees.
This lad, who was staring at the piece, was clearly fantasizing about it. He was wondering how it would look on his beloved. He was wondering of the several years he would have to work tirelessly and save every penny before he could even afford to walk into a store like the one he was outside. I could see his eyes lower down at that thought, out of shame, out of anger, out of malice, out of self-pity. I do not know. Then suddenly, he looked up and his eyes met mine.
I could see those hard features dissolve into a mellow expression of a young boy in love. I could see youth caged within the walls of a financial world where one never had enough. I could see his eyes look into mine as if he could read through my hollowness and I shuddered. He took a step towards the shop but stumbled and bumped into the security guard. The man took it as a sign of aggression and immediately attacked him, both with his baton and his bulk. The poor young man didn't even defend himself. He lay on the ground, yet his eyes somehow kept shifting between me and the brooch. He didn't realize when the beating stopped, he was picked up, and then pushed away from the shop.
That night when I came back from the store, I took off my jacket. It seemed heavy with the weight of the world on it. I took off my starched white shirt which had barely creased during the day. It somehow made my skin itch. And then once I had stepped out of my shoes and trousers, I stood in front of the mirror to see the man that I actually was. I looked into my eyes and was immediately ashamed at the disappointment that stood in front of me. There I was, stark naked, literally and otherwise…and I could not look into my own eyes. I could see the dreams of the young man dying a slow death…and with his dreams…mine…
- Parekh, Pravesh
September 12, 2014;
08:15 PM
Bangalore International
Airport
En-route to Mumbai
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