I am marketer by profession,goes
without saying that I am driven by a consumerist culture. In today’s world you
are what you own. You are the car you drive, the watch you wear; you are the
brand of shirt and the brand of shoe. You are everything that is quantifiable,
measurable. No wonder then, even when we know it’s a fake Gucci and Polo, we
would still rather wear the fake for otherwise how is anyone to evaluate our
social standing in the hierarchy of things.
I am no more above this culture
than any other average woman; rather I admit I have always had a taste for
finer things, not so much as to define my social standing but because I am slave to my own habits. I look back with
little satisfaction at my role in spreading discontentment among my peers; as a
marketer it was a job that applied to all aspects of my life. The person who has little experiences the
worst inferiority complexes, borne much out of one’s own lack of self worth; than a
derogatory intent proposed by the others. Neither is happy, the “have-nots”
rotting away with the thought of the unattainable; the “haves”, forever in a
quest to maintain their social positions. The trouble is that this rat keeps
chasing its own tail till tired of its useless pursuits its finally succumbs.
There is an interesting story on
why I started analysing with dismay my consumer habits and their impact on my
life and it all started with a Bag.
There is a rather weird chemistry
between me and things; I say weird because I have not been able to understand a
most remarkable phenomenon; which is, Every time I covet something subconsciously
(otherwise it does not work), it
somehow materializes in my life. I mean I don’t buy them they just drop in (I
know incredible right!). So one day roaming around town I saw this Bag, which
by all standards can be called the father of all designer bags and as I said
earlier, subconsciously I admired it and thought well that’s one thing I am not
spending money to get but it is amazing.
Fast forward six months and friend
come to visit after a very long time; bearing a box. And yes, there it was in
all its glory sitting on my table; the very Bag…..
….The first few days I was quite excited
and overjoyed but with every passing day it started to feel like a burden. I
was so conscious of spoiling it and ruining it (before I had a chair; it had to
sit). Initially I didn't mind the attention it got, but gradually I started
having mix feeling about carrying it around.
In my personal life this was a
time of dark days followed by dark nights, I was battling depression and
anxiety followed by the Autism diagnosis of my little boy. It was also the time
for making new choices and shedding an old skin. If ever there was a blessing
in my life it is having someone like Sheru. He changed the very lens of my
world and this world in all its glory I started seeing in brand new colours. Sheru
was able to forge open a window that no text I had ever read could. He has
taught me and continues to teach me all the lessons that no great Master could
have taught. With Sheru I am learning humility and patience; I am learning
unconditional love and acceptance.
And while all this was taking
place here was this Bag and all that it symbolized; ambition, wealth, power,
success. How it begged to be looked at,
how it begged for approval. I didn't have it because I liked it I had it
because of what it embodied; What it said about who I was, where I was. It was
a badge that I wore that allowed me to enter a certain mindset, a certain Diaspora
of people. It allowed me to feel worthy of having such a thing in my life, It
allowed me to bask in those admiring glances of other women. It made me feel
superior and important. It earned me a place on the table of high- powered- discontent.
It belittled my soul and reduced me to the status of a fickle materialistic
snob, who neither knows better nor does better. It made me spared
discontentment among those who could not have it; it endeared me to those very
rats chasing their very tails. And so this is what it boils down to; all those
theories of altruism and selflessness. All that charade of being content; the
mirror that the Bag held to my face had an ugly face in it. It showed a scared
woman, a woman who wanted the wrong people to approve of her existence to
validate her life. It showed a weak woman whose words and actions were at a
tangent. It showed a shallow woman who judged people by their covers.
The next day “Khala” an elderly
woman who helped around the house was seen taking her everyday groceries in that very Bag. Entirely unconscious of the nuisance value of her new procession;
content that all the veggies were secured.
