Mumbai - An Addiction

Ambika Chaiwalla, is this restaurant where we have our Chai at work. It’s quite shabby compared to the clean pantry we have. And the quality of raw materials that go into the Ambika Chaiwalla’s chai are best left unsaid. It’s this typical chai-tapri that are so omnipresent in Mumbai. And like true Mumbaikars, that’s where we’d rather have our chai than the hygienic the vending machine tea.

So I had a longish day at work. And while leaving, I decided to have a “cutting” at Ambika. I was wearing a black half-sleeved striped shirt and beige trousers. Mind you my definition of beige covers all shades from your light brown to just brown enough so as to not be white. I guess I ain’t metrosexual enough to identify shades of colours with their sophisticated and unpronounceable names. Why am I being so detailed about my garments, you ask? I am getting to that.

So I finished my cutting and after doling out 3 rupees change I was off on my way to home sweet home. And at the very same time this other guy too left the Chaiwalla. Pretty regular affair, two guys finishing their tea at the same time and heading off on their paths. But that’s where things took a turn from the regular scheme of affairs.

This other guy, walked up right beside me, and told me, “Your shirt’s really good”

“Uhh, thanks.” I said, slightly taken aback at a stranger giving me a complement about my shirt.

It didn’t stop there.

“This combination suits you really well.” The guy continued

“Ok. Thanks again.” I smiled politely and quickened my pace.

“Are you a Malyali?” The guy asked.

Now I was really confused. Didn’t this guy’s mom tell him not to talk to strangers? Or if he wanted to talk, did she not tell him at least not to take random assumptions about a stranger’s ethnicity?

“What? No I am not” This time I was not smiling. In fact not being rude by telling him to leave me alone was taking quite a bit of an effort.

“Oh. You talk like a Malyali, that’s why.” The guy clarified.

This dude’s hilarious, I thought. I am a gujju and I don’t have even a Gujju accent in my hindi or English. I don’t even know how Malyalis talked, let alone a Malyali accent creeping into my diction.

“Uhh. Ok” I mentioned and I almosted started galloping to outrun him. Eventually he fell behind and made no attempt to catch up. I was quite relieved I must say, for I had started to think that this guy was some kind of a Voodoo doctor who would pluck a hair from my head and use it with his Voodoo doll to prick needles into me.

That was it actually. Nothing too spectacular about the anecdote. But it did get me thinking about how uncomfortable I was when he complemented me. It’s just so unusual to expect someone to say a nice word to you that you feel irritated, confused, and apprehensive when it happens. I don’t think it’s true with girls but as far as guys are concerned, I think I can say for my kind that we don’t want other unknown guys to complement us on our clothes, hair or nails. If someone does commit the blunder he will risk being regarded as gay. Such is the cruelty of the world today. While the concept of bad words is so well entrenched, good words are losing their value and looked upon as a camouflage for some unsaid sinister motives.

So if you are a guy and have made it a habit of noticing any details of a random guy’s dressing sense, then keep it to yourself. Your unbiased feedback, no matter how positive, will be highly disapproved of.