I decided I needed a new pair of spectacles. I was wearing a three year old one that I had stopped using long ago. I was with this old one because I 'executed' by ex-new one under my leg; I mean I actually squashed it so badly that I couldn't even give it a proper burial.

So here I am, congratulating myself on finally turning 'pro-active' and 'reaching out' to some spects shops (I am from Information Technology). It has been about two months since the above incident occured, by the way. I took the left after Adyar Bus Depot and proceeded into Indira Nagar. I vaguely remember having seen a shop somewhere there.

As I said, I was quite happy to have finally come round to deciding that I am going to buy new spects. And happiness brings extravagance. So I took a right turn.

Enter Lawrence And Mayo:

Well, well, just what the doctor ordered. I parked in the space provided and started up the stairs aware that I was going into one of those 'Elite' shops. I entered the shop; the air was pleasant. Just as I started to grow comfortable, I found myself feeling, rather strangely, like an object of inspection. I dont know, but every time I enter a place like this, I get the feeling that everyone is staring at me for some alien reason; looking down upon me for some un-figure-out-able reason. I am yet to figure out if the look in their eyes is one of curiosity or pity, or both; like they have just seen an organism so low in the socio-economic hierarchy that it merits their utter and undivided disgust.

I walked to the counter and told the guy I wanted a new pair of spects. He asked me to sit down; rather emphatically I thought. Another gesture at the 'Gollum'? Regardless; I sat down and picked up a SportStar on the table below. There was a 'Health' there too. But I figured those kind of magazines were only to be read by the 'Elite'; if seen in the hands of the down-trodden would be taken to be a sign of pervertism. Anyways, I was so pre-occupied with the stares that I didn't feel like picking it up anyway.

I read for about five minutes, trying to generate some interest in the Cricket gibberish written all over the magazine. Not one piece of futbol anywhere! Will this country never satiate of cricket?!! I reached the fag end of the magazine in another five minutes; still no sign of the man. Does he think lower middle class have all time in the world to spare? Or is it that the 'Elite' really have all the time in the world to spare in a god-forsaken spects store!

Another smart white guy came in; waved a 'Hi' to someone in the shop he already knew and went over to collect his spects. More minutes passed; ten, maybe fifteen. No sign of anyone. I decided that they do not deserve my presence anymore. Time to leave.

Wait! There's a problem here. I can't just leave! Ever noticed those beggars who pester you on the main road; they wait, hoping that you'll shell out something, and when you don't, they start moving away slowly. I would have waited for their mercy, and when they showed none, I would be moving out of the store. No way! I racked my brains, thinking how to outsmart my would be 'benefactors'. I pulled out my cell-phone. That's the only escape route in such places. Whip the cell phone out and pretend to receive the most important call of life at that exact moment, so that you have no choice but to rush outside, sacrificing your personal needs in the store for some greater cause. And so I did!

I mounted the bike and raced away without a second glance; just in case some of those 'eagles' were still looking-down on me.