The Weekend Shopping

It was a Friday again and the family headed to their favourite weekend destination, the City Centre Mall. Their outing comprised of this weekly groceries shopping at the Carrefour and then if time permitted, either a movie at the Cineplex or a session at the Fun City, where the kids were allowed to play the various free games and rides and the parents checked out their luck on the ‘Deal or no deal’ machine and finally a dinner at the food court.

This week they were late. The father, who spent the whole night awake, was writing a blog about a sleazy movie and as a consequence of it, spent most of the day sleeping. And by the time that he woke up and decided to go out, it was already late in the evening. Needless to mention, the entertainment and subsequent eating out plans had to be shelved. All the time that they had was to go about with their regular groceries shopping and then, at the most pick up some takeaways from the food section at the hypermarket which they could later on have at home.

The kids, who were pissed off with this arrangement lunged on to throwing tantrums and started begging for chocolates and juices as their parents pushed the trolley along the aisles. The parents were smart; they had read books and innumerable articles on parenting and knew that the best way take control of the situation (and to not give into their kid’s tantrums) was to remain indifferent and aloof. The kids would beg, jump and utmost roll on the floor crying, but they’d eventually give up. And if they didn’t, all that the dad had to do was pick the elder boy by the ear and ask him to spell a difficult word or two which he would not be able to answer correctly and then let the mother take charge and attack them with light reprimands and stories of how they themselves suffered as children and how deprived their childhood was in comparison. The scheme worked well, always. The elder boy would mellow down and hang his head in dismay and the younger one, who would’ve just witnessed his commander-in-chief being ambushed, would resign and surrender.

This week’s shopping was almost done, when the father just remembered that he had to buy a new lunchbox. His friends at work were already making fun of him for carrying along a kid’s style Sponge Bob lunchbox, and he wanted to change it now and so they headed straight to the Plastics aisle adjacent to the stationery section. As the parents consulted each other and embarked onto a lengthy discussion on which one to buy, the elder son interrupted them with an innocent smile on his face and a Ben10 water bottle in his hand. He begged his parents that he wanted this new water bottle and doesn’t want the Barbie one any more as his fellow classmates were making fun of him and teasing him that he was a girl. Dad, who is also an avid reader of management books, seized the opportunity to give out a lengthy lecture to the little boy on how to confront and tactfully deal with classmates who display negative attitudes and behaviours. The mother attacked the boy by arguing that it was he who decided to keep the cheaper Barbie water bottle + box of croissants (combo offer!) rather than this Ben10 water bottle, when asked to decide during their shopping visit last week. The seven year old, though not convinced, resigned after throwing his arms around and stomping his foot. Mom, who was impressed by dad’s lecturing, looked on smilingly and let dad pick the most expensive lunch box in the shelf.  Dad got a microwaveable plain blue coloured lunchbox with an orange-green lid. The colours resembled his country, India’s cricket team jersey, which was also his favourite.

He delicately placed the lunchbox in the trolley raised his head high, filled his chest with a deep breath and then turned around and looked at other shoppers as if he had just won a prestigious award. He then looked at mom, humbly blinked his eyes at her, as if he was thanking her for being the woman behind all his achievements and then started moving towards the billing counter.

As they jointly towed the trolley, they noticed both their sons sitting on floor admiring something in the stationeries aisle. The elder one had a box in his hand and seemed to explain something to his three year old brother. It seemed like he was convincing his little brother to stand strong and stick to his elder brother and not give into any ulterior offers from their parents.

The parents called out, to which the boys went running to them, with the elder boy delicately holding the box in his hands.

Dad questioned the boys “What is this?” to which the elder one innocently replied “This is a colouring puzzle Pappa. Can you buy me this? It also got crayons in it. I can colour it and we can share and play puzzle. Isn’t it cool Pappa. Will you buy me this?”

Dad had this disdainful look on his face, which conveyed the message “When will you kids grow up”. He then pulled that thing from the boy's hand and started prying it with an intention to find a defect so that it could be rejected outright. He couldn’t find any, and so turned to their mother, spreading out his arms and a look, which seemed to ask “What to do now?”

The boys raised their heads and watched their parents’ faces eagerly as they held each other’s hand teaming up and suggesting that they were both into this together.

The mother, who by now realized that dad was in a state of quandary, took charge to resolve. She asked “How much is it sweetie?” to which dad replied “Nineteen riyals”.

“Nineteen Riyals” she screeched, to which the younger son covered both ears and shouted back “Ouch! Stop it Amma”. But Amma was not going to stop now. She had just found a lead to help daddy get out of this sticky situation. It was now her chance to give an economics lecture to the seven year old.

In a lengthy lecture, which lasted an eon, the boy learned how the complex foreign exchange system worked and that one Qatari Riyal was equivalent to over twelve and half Indian Rupees and that they were extremely poor Indian expatriates and that buying this worthless piece of object meant shelving out a whopping Two Hundred and Fifty Rupees. He also found out that the flight tickets from Doha to Kozikkode were the most expensive ones and that the single reason why they rented out an expensive three bedroom flat was just so that the boys could have ample space to run around and play and that they didn’t require any such colouring puzzle to entertain themselves. Dad went on to add his expert points on budgeting and informed the boys that buying The Colouring Puzzle would throw their monthly budget out of gear, and that it was now the elder one’s decision to take, whether he wanted the Colouring Puzzle or the box of cookies that they picked earlier.

The elder boy was determined. He wanted The Colouring Puzzle and nothing else! But the younger lad who visualized a no-win situation here, made a sad face and whispered slowly into his elder brother’s ears “Chetta, cookie”. The elder boy’s heart melted and he gave out a sorry look at his younger brother for failing him again.

The boys had once again got sucked into a negotiation situation and this time, humbly settled for the box of cookies. The parents had won again. As the boys hung their heads and followed, the parents exchanged side glances and sly smiles to each other suggesting “We are the best” and that “We always have the situation under our control”. Reading all those books and articles on parenting had helped.

Later, as they queued up at the billing counter, ‘the man’ in dad looked naughtily at his wife, picked up a box of the Seventy Five Riyals Durex Play O from the display and flung it into the trolley. That was her reward for the day’s display of ‘How to efficiently and effectively control your kids while shopping’. The wife, not to be outdone, gave back a horny smile, flared her nostrils and almost bit her lower lip suggesting that tonight something would happen. To his surprise, she then tossed in an equally expensive return gift; a box of his favourite Davidoff Classics Cigarettes, confirming that something surely would happen tonight.

As he finished paying, he whispered into his wife’s ears that “This week we are a little over budget, but that is okay”. She gave out an innocent look and he responded back with a horny roar which almost bit off her left earlobe. They smiled at each other and licked their lips, wetting it, in anticipation of the ensuing programme that night.

The little boys however gulped saliva as their mouths watered gazing at the colourful display of chocolates and toffees lined up just half an inch away from their faces. They knew that they were poor and that there was no way they were getting it. They clasped their hands together, exchanged a sad glance and followed their parents.

PS:   This is a work of pure fiction and resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.