One ka two ya four

There was this completely maddening Hindi film released some years ago, starring Juhi Chawla and Shah Rukh Khan, called One Two Ka Four. Maddening, because I never did manage to see it beyond a certain stage, and so never found out how it ended, except once, accidentally, when I realised it was that film long after it had ended, which kind of defeated the purpose of seeing the film as it was. Effectively, I never saw the start, never saw the end, and sat through one song and much dancing interminable times over.

But that is not the point of this blog, honestly.

What happened today had me thinking of the chaotic melange of scenes that is a Hindi film – any Hindi film - for me, as a sometimes-never kind of film watcher, mainly on cable television. I was at the Dollar Store, a cheap, oddly organised and strangely efficient chain that has sprung up all over the city (perhaps even the country, I don’t know) to sell inexpensive and casually branded American products, from sunglasses to eyeshadow to instant mashed potatoes to cat food. That last was why I was there, since our baby cat has developed a passion for the canned chicken (and other by-products) that flies in to our city at irregular intervals. I had one aim in hading purposefully for the mall: to buy “tender chicken slices in gravy” for our little furry monster.

But there was a problem. The store only had one solitary can. Fine. I wanted it, and put it in my carrier before anyone else could grab it. One of the busily buzzing crew that is omnipresent and superbly helpful popped up like a genie from one of the candles on the shelf and beamed delightedly at me. Rather taken aback by the flashing teeth, I demanded more cat food with a little less charm than I would normally display to get my way. the boy buzzed away busily. While he was gone, another little genie materialised, with the same consequences. She buzzed busily to behind the same closed door that the first has retreated to. Just as a third appeared, the first two came back, the girl beating the young man to the verdict – sorry, ma’am, there is only one.

Feeling a little extra possessive about my can, I headed for checkout and presented it to the girl in charge. She beamed fondly at me, as had the others, and buzzed busily at the cash register, trying to sell me everything from erasers to cartons of fruit juice to vast packets of pasta – three for 99, ma’am, she assured me. Now that was the crux of the problem. The cat food came three cans for Rs 99, and since I was taking only one, since there was only one to take, the ledger would go all wrong if I didn’t make up for the rest of the Rs99 that I needed to spend so that the busily buzzing crew could heave a sigh of satisfaction at a job well done and the girl at the cash counter could register the right amount without the computer system going into conniptions.

The buzzing genies were summoned from the various directions that they had scattered to. After some moments of confusion, where they all tried in different voices and many more accents to persuade me to buy pasta, three for 99, ma’am, I brought the proceedings (which were proceeding rapidly to a state of total mayhem) to a loud and abrupt halt and then smiled sweetly, even as smoke started trickling from my ears with suppressed irritation. A young male genie was delegated to take me on a guided tour of the three for 99 sections and did his best to tempt me with everything from some strangely shaped mugs to plastic and glass boxes – with a spoon included, ma’am! – to chocolate to…eventually, grabbing some disposable razors, I trotted homewards back to the cash register and managed to make my escape.

One ka, ya two ka, ya three ka. I even found soap that was seven for 99. One of these days I need to go explore that store again, more carefully, without attracting too much attention from the busily buzzing genies. Who knows what else I could find there, for what price! And maybe I would even get more cans of the right kind for the cat. At three for 99, ma’am, of course!