Moms, daughters and Dubai-Dhaka pendulum
When my son and I were headed towards Delhi with the sole purpose of shopping for his apartment, I knew that recession had hit Southasia bad enough to make consumers shy away from the malls at Gurgaon. But that was the bare minimum I could do for my prince and therefore we were heading off to our Milano of the East: Gurgaon and Saket in New Delhi. My son is extremely conscious of the fact that his mother had always shopped at the boutiques with extreme caution, balancing between brands and no-namers. He knows that our house hosts a balance too; we are happy with our paintings, music and books and we are unhappy when there’s an assumption about our lifestyle. We live well but we are well within our means. Our vacations are rarely spent in Europe or in some breathtaking spots; our ideal vacations (if any) mostly consist of being with each other in the far east, but yes…possibly in a great hotel. East has always been friendly for our pockets.
Back to the airport scene now…While checking in, I notice a few people who are checking in as well. All VIPS! And yet not checking in through the VIP lounge??? Hmmm….fair enough…three out of four shied away and hesitated to greet me. I understood and remembered Alain Botton’s Status Anxiety. But then the fourth was mean. She looked away with a degree of contempt. All four dressed to kill were the perfect picture of the Dhaka scene. My son and I, perhaps did not look chic enough. We did not head for the lounge, rather went to the departure gate. And while we were about to board, I heard my prince breaking into uncontrollable bouts of laughter. What was it, I asked? He shared with me a peak into his facebook account, where the 4th one, the meanie had just posted from the lounge a new status statement: “In the 1st class Dubai lounge, wishing if only I had a visa to go to town and shop!”.
She was in Dhaka airport, transiting Delhi and heading for London. Close enough, but Dhaka and Dubai only have the first letter in common. And 1st class lounge? The girl in boots was obviously hallucinating about Dubai being transported to our very comfortable Balaka restaurant. Is this what the virtual does to us? Or is this what our tiny pots of gold tempt us to believe? I don’t blame the girl; she probably has grown up watching her mom clad in the smartest suits, bragging about the terrace of her London house while in reality, in an incestuous dinner setting, she will have people whispering to each other about the leaks in her bathroom in her very own “London” villa. These people belong to a special breed. They are anxious about what they have, frantic when they lose a bit, unashamed when their sons get arrested for drug trafficking. These are the same people who host lavish dinners where most of the diplomats make an appearance and who address them by their first names. Are the people of this impoverished land unable to carry poverty with pride?
