Mall rattling

A friend from work and I decided that our stress levels – individual and combined – were getting too much to handle and we needed to get out and go somewhere…anywhere. So, gathering ourselves and our bags, we hied forth in my little chariot to the nearby mall to find food and some entertainment. It was up for grabs, and we did our best to grab it.

We started with the parking lot. Perhaps the first nicely lit, nicely aired and nicely organised underground garage I have met in Mumbai, it sprawled at the end of a circular ramp and had easy access to the various elevators dotting the complex. I found parking on the first turn, slid into my space and we started our crawling through the mall.

Shooting up to the top level, we emerged in the food court. Just as we got out and clacked in our heels (my feet are reminding me that spending time walking gently through a shopping centre is to be done in soft and comfortable sandals, not glamorous stiletto slippers) across the highly polished floor, I got a text message on my cellphone inviting me to test drive the Rolls Royce. Should I? I asked my buddy who, with her well-developed news nose, wanted the story in 350 words by close of edition.

Food was a matter of some confusion. Should we go with Indian or not? If not, should it be Chinese, Thai, Japanese, barbecue, anonymous sandwiches or a burger of sorts? Or would it be better to opt for the more conventional idli-dosa, roti-sabji or tandoori platter? I finally decided on momos, while she headed for South Indian. We re-united, sat down to eat and gently gossiped about the office and its various personalities. Gelato had to be slurped, and we beelined for the dark chocolate, with its infinitely fabulously therapeutic properties of soothing the nerves and satisfying the calorie count. Diet dessert? Yuck! Our opinions matched perfectly.

Then began the real crawl. Friend and I had shoes on the mind, as may be expected, and we ducked in and out of wherever looked promising. But, on close inspection, there was never anything completely right about anything we saw. A wonderful pair of black and white heels at one store was perfect in every way…but for the faddishness of the insole, which would be out of fashion within a few weeks, if not days. A gorgeous pair of open toed sandals wound around the ankle…but managed to put me off with the arbitrary floral decoration on the top – it was a flower, but a very improbably one, which did not do it for me. And a gorgeous set in red and gold was almost mine…but it came only in a size that needed my feet to grow at least two more inches which, at my age, would be impossible!

Then we headed clothes and bag-wards. Neither inspired too much, though I did find a brilliant red shirt, all pin-tucks and lovely soft cotton, that just yelled to be taken home. I did adopt it and am now wondering about the ironing nightmare that it will become. My friend looked at a white shirt with interesting detailing on the front placket and we looked at each other and laughed: “Another white shirt?” Another red shirt – the one I liked - under my arm and we headed back to work, stopping briefly at a store selling the most unlikely and exotic underwear, some beaded, some feathered, some even made of the most strange rubber-like stuff. With a shudder, we left, giggling about it in the car.

That was my style fix for the week. Next week…who knows where my feet will take me!