A Ceremonial Burial Of Human Emotions

Picture this- Peak sell out time at a renowned boutique, brimming with shoppers swiftly striding in, walking in an elegant fashion, taking poised but measured steps, flashing plastic smiles as they hold onto their enormous handbags ,pricey mobile phones and brush away that untamed lock of hair that incessantly blocks their view. Somewhere 20 steps behind, your eyes fall upon an adorable toddler trying to catch-up with a woman who you now see carefully examining a crop-top and pestering the salesman to get her a fresh piece as she manages to get rid of that irritant strand; but this time pinning it up for good. You cannot help, but pity the poor kid as she tries to rummage through a pile of unattended clothes, drag a shopping bag down the aisle or topple the neatly arranged stack of cushions. Devoid of motherly love and affection-she seems to keep herself occupied and content admiring the changing silhouettes of female contours in the trial room or the myriad expressions of her own face in the foot long mirror. She periodically looks up from her evolving preoccupations, her wide eyes searching for her mother-but when the effort yields no result, she resumes her activities.

An hour pass by and so do the moments of peace and tranquility. The melodious undertones of the sitar, being played on the speakers now seem to have coupled with faint shrilly screeches, gradually increasing in amplitude and intensity. This unholy duet calls for the attention of the support staff who frantically begin searching for the procr

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eator of the child who has begun to drive potential customers away.

 

Enter the mother -who seems to be profoundly irritated for being interrupted during her shopping extravaganza and has no respite from her hair which keeps sliding out from the shiny blue hairpin.

After having apologized to the staff for her little one’s behavior, she picks up the child in her arms- much to the satisfaction of the kid (who now appears to be as happy as a daisy), whispers into her ear some other worldly words of wisdom as the child lovingly teases her hair and the next moment you see-the child is stationed in a corner in the care of a helpless saleswoman as the mother walks away, wishing to continue with her pursuit for that one dress which can catch the fancy of all the other boisterous women at her next party.

 

This appalling behavior unmasks the desire for materialistic pleasure at the cost of enjoying some priceless moments with your loved ones. Why do we wish to impress those whom we don’t like, by purchasing goods that we don’t need and pretend to be someone we don’t relate to, while willingly forgoing the little joys of life which can bring us much more satisfaction?

 

I still find it difficult to erase the sight of that child: who solely wants to be loved and cherished, her tear stained cheeks turning pale with time and her bleary eyes following the path her mother walked by…