Dear nameless, shameless street kid, how I dislike you!
Let me introduce myself, but wait. You will recognize me as I proceed with my account of the gravity of your action at the McDonalds outlet in Pune.
I am outraged at your temerity. You stepped inside a McDonald outlet? You entered not to beg, nor to steal, but to actually buy a Fanta McFloat. Can you even spell the name? Do you realise how cheated I felt seeing you rubbing your bony shoulders with ours which carry the burden of the country's governance and economy? What cheek to stand in the same queue where we outperfume each other to cover our stinking riches?
Representational image. ReutersRepresentational image. Reuters
After a long day of counting calories and a hectic workout session at the gym do I not have a right to eat my egg wrap in peace?
As it is you make me feel guilty by standing outside McDonalds begging. I know povertarians will find my outrage as elitist snobbery. For God's sake, how am I responsible for your poverty? It is both your fate and the state which have failed you.
Shouldn't you act your status? Instead of entering the outlet to buy Fanta McFloat, shouldn't you have begged for it? Even if you had stolen it, I would understand it as a quintessential attribute of people belonging to your class. Do you now realise why some pizza outlets have started delivering orders through drones? No prying eyes invoking my guilt. No dirty hands outstretched at the red light. Aah, life can be beautiful.
Look at the risk the McDonald’s employee took in throwing you out of the outlet! Imagine the outrage if he had belonged to a political party. The sole voices of the middle class on primetime TV would have chewed him like a Chicken McGrill.
Jokes apart, if this is how you behave as a kid, you may be growing up nursing ambitions of entering into showrooms of Louis Vuitton or Gucci, with the unholy intention of buying their products. Please don’t spoil yourself and my aesthetic sense. My aesthetic indulgence is not inclusive.
I am very happy that FMCGs are doing well in rural markets and markets belonging to your class. However, there are some things that are exclusive for my class. Will I ever grudge you your occasional glass of lemon soda or leftovers from a can of coke that I throw out of the window of my car? It may not have the fizz, so what? Do I complain when your hands soil the windows of my expensive car at the red light begging for crumbs of my attention?
From the money you get from me, you go and buy things that are meant for me? How outrageous!! My impressionable son was in the same queue. I am glad he was busy playing his favorite ‘Tiny Thief’ on my tablet. Not his age to see such ugly reality from such close quarters.
So what if you were in the queue and so what if you also had the money in your hand to buy the Fanta McFloat? There is another queue which you cannot see – this is the queue where people belonging to my class jostle with each other and bully the state for its undivided attention, resources and focus. Your forefathers knew they did not belong to this queue and never even tried to join it. You should know where you belong. Stay in the queues that belong to you – outside temples, malls and restaurants. The world inside belongs to me.
Do not take my guilty moments for granted. In those moments I refuel myself to work harder and ensure I migrate to a country where I don’t have to see your dirty face and dry tears ever.
Yours rich snob
