It was one of those days which awaited the test of my patience. I was early
more out of habit than of co-incidence and the otherwise buzzing airport wore a
grim look that day. Spring was just around the corner and the wind was carrying
its aroma. Having an hour to spare, I decided to visit the duty free section of
the airport. I am not a shopaholic in the least but the mere thought of myself
walking down the aisles of numerous counters where high end luxury brands were
put up for sale gave butterflies in my stomach. I wanted to taste how it felt
to be privileged. I had imagined myself wearing a Gucci or a Chanel and
practiced posing in front of a mirror. In my mind, I had posed for the Vogue
and had already been featured in the Forbes list of thirty most influential
people in the world less than thirty years of age. Such are the pleasures of my
imagination!
No
sooner had I entered the Michael Kors counter than a lady dressed in white
caught my attention. She resembled some distant relative of the queen in her
attire and style. She appeared to be demure carrying a bottle of chardonnay.
She seemed to have stumbled upon opulence through serendipity. I could imagine
her sitting by the fireplace sipping red wine in a rainy winter evening while
Mozart played on her gramophone. You could say she had an old world charm.
Contrary to her appearance, her behaviour was puerile. The twinkle in her eyes
when she touched the limited edition vanity purses, the elegance in her smile
as she smelt the leather and the grace which emanated from her voice, soothed
my soul and I found happiness just by looking at her. Her grandeur was
multiplied manifold when she decided to purchase all the limited edition purses
on sale. Rubies and sapphires glistened on her plum fingers and she blushed
every time the sales lady complemented her on the way she would look when she
styled herself with her newly bought babies.
I
admired her in silence. My desire to be a lady reached its brim within a span
of just a few minutes. Her charisma hypnotised me and transported me to the
land of my dreams. My reverie was interrupted by a fellow customer whose
“excuse me”, teleported me back to this hell of a reality. I finally glanced at
my watch. Half an hour was still left before a giant structure of aluminium and
steel and what not would throw me back to my roots where I will stay buried in
the mud. I decided to head out of my haven. A Murphy radio was perched at the
corner of the exit door. It played a song.
“There’s a lady who’s sure
all that glitters is gold
And she is buying the stairway to heaven”
Comments
Post a Comment