Binge shopping, courtesy UPI

IT’S with a swagger that I walk into a high-end store for men’s clothing in town. What I’m looking for is a couple of decent golfing T-shirts, as the old ones are now either faded or ill-fitting. As I see the array of designs displayed, I visualise myself as the dashing Tiger Woods on the golf course among the sloppy foursome of septuagenarians that I play with.

A smart young salesperson accosts me, ‘Sir, let me help you take out the ones you fancy and I will keep putting them aside for the final pick.’

‘But I need only one or two, thank you very much,’ I say.

‘No problem, sir. We will just be shortlisting so that only the best is picked up… in fact, this striped one will really look good on you,’ she says.

Next to the T-shirts is the ‘newly arrived summer collection’ of linen shirts. Elegant pure whites, khakis or light earth colours suiting my age are indeed classy. As I wistfully glance past them and hasten to exit, she pipes in, ‘Sir, you don’t have to buy them, just try them on and if you like any, we will keep them aside for your next visit.’

Notwithstanding my protests, some shirts are nevertheless shortlisted and put aside on the table. And when you buy golf clothing, how can it be complete without matching shorts?

Finally, I take a deep breath and say, ‘No! I don’t need anything else and that will be all, please.’

‘But sir, there is a surprise for you. We are offering a discount of Rs 1,000 on your purchases,’ she claims.

‘What have I done to earn this munificence?’ I ask in all innocence. ‘Sir, it’s your loyalty bonus plus a scheme that all purchases above Rs 12,000 get a discount of Rs 1,000,’ she says.

There is simply no way out of this apparel trap.

Finally, laden with clothes to last a lifetime, I reach the payment desk and all I have to do is take out my phone, scan the squiggly ‘creepy, crawly’ QR code, and with a swish of fingers the money flies out my pocket into the manager’s till.

It’s a similar scene when I visit a bookshop. I not only buy the one book that I came for after reading rave reviews, but also end up purchasing avant-garde new arrivals as well as old leather-bound classics. I know that most of these books will simply adorn my study, unread, only to elicit some ‘oohs and aahs’ from admiring friends.

Mulling over the day’s impromptu indulgences for a humble pensioner, I blame it all on the inventor of the UPI mode of payment. Imagine, if I had to count those 11,000 bucks note by note, coin by coin, taken out most reluctantly from my worn-out purse, would I be really doing all the day’s shopping? I’m certainly not in the queue for exchanging

Rs 2,000 notes. I’m, in fact, looking for one to deposit all my pay wallets and go back to hoarding good old soiled notes and jingling coins, securely ensconced in my pocket.