The golden people

When the mother insisted I make wiser investments with the (little) money I earn, I argued, "Clothes are wise investments! I spend a lot on them, after all". She did not see the humour in it and off we sped away to buy gold yesterday. She explained that this would help curb those middle-of-the-night cravings for new shoes and help me have something that will secure me for the future. All this is fine. South Indian women hardly need encouragement for gold-shopping anyway. From my eighty-year-old next-door neighbour to my sassy-mouthed, well-meaning colleague, they all patiently waxed poetic about the yellow metal.

So, much to my own suprise, I was excited! It was with a bit of delicious anticipation that I stepped into GRT, the jewellery store in T. Nagar, where even the floors seemed to be paved in gold. Safari-suited, beaming employees ushered us in, while a pretty lady dressed like a stewardess asked us what exactly we were looking for. While the mother spoke to her, the father was already stifling a yawn. I, though, looked around and realised that I was the only jeans-clad woman in the store.

The place was bursting with women in pattu sarees, each with necks weighed down by enough gold to afford a vacation to Vegas, for an elopement and a gamble. Even the pudgy kids they had dragged along wore their gold bangles with the same comfort as the lollipops that were glued to their pink-tinted tongues. The conditioned air blew conspicuously against my naked neck, wrists and fingers and I felt desperately under-decked for the occasion. Heck, my mom and I together would not own the amount of jewellery that clung to the 13-year-old girl next to me.

But, I decided I did not care, and the elevator deposited me on the floor which would eventually become many thousands richer, thanks to me. The sales guy with the neatly parted hair and shy smile promised that he would find the exact kind of chain I am looking for. He repeatedly assured me that he will not force any gaudy stuff that screams "Money!" and served steaming almond milk, while I settled back for an afternoon of guilt-free indulgence. I told myself that I will do my thing, enjoy it and get out in time for work.

As he rummaged around to please my picky taste, I braved another look around and was aghast. Women all around me were buying gold worth lakhs, with the careless abandon of the nouveau riche. But, what baffled me the most was that these people were not rich by any stretch of imagination. They were the ordinary middle-class folk, and some, lower-middle. The old-gold adorning their bodies glittered in sync to their shimmery purchases and I turned to the father in confusion. He reflected my train of thought and said, "We hardly buy gold, but how do these people have all this money to buy it so easily?"

All around us, people were burning deep holes in their pockets while trying to live the Indian Dream – owning enough gold for the human flesh to glimmer in a shiny mask – and I felt an incremental deflation of enthusiasm. I experienced mini panic-attacks every time I saw the tag curled around a jewel, and had to exert many a brain cell in trying to calculate how much I may need to pay. The lady with the jasmine flowers, silk saree and ropes of gold necklaces next to me, however, looked at one metal monstrosity after another flippantly, not bothering with those pesky tags at all.

South Indians love their gold don’t they? Even at the risk of being unable to make ends meet, their treasure chests gleam with drops of sunny gold. To a certain extent I understood the craze: The Big Indian Wedding necessitates what is increasingly becoming a middle-class preoccupation. Daughters have to be married off even if the gold prices are soaring mountain-high, don’t they? Even shy-smiled sales guy clicked his tongue in sympathy: “Sir, please join our monthly scheme for your daughter Sir. Lots of gold you can save Sir. For her marriage Sir.. Sir.” Oh boy.

 As I clutched my humble purchases close to me, the branch-shaped pendant that I so meticulously picked out seemed insignificant next to what I saw a fellow-shopper lugging out. I was happy nevertheless: I paid for this. It belongs to me. It is not some unnecessary addition to the closet that will not last more than a year; it is permanent.

I inhaled a heady puff of the hysteria that I took away from the golden madhouse I just visited. And as I finish this post, my brother informs me the gold prices have gone up today. Is the feeling I experience what every South Indian feels when he/she hears something similar? I feel relieved that I chose to go yesterday, instead of today, and by that relief, I melded flawlessly with the golden people. Whether I liked it or not.