Polygamy

I am in the car at the moment, Hindi hop blaring out of the low-end speakers, speeding away from the scene of the crime. Like Anakin Skywalker, I have given into the power of the dark side. I have eaten the forbidden Jelabi and it was sweet and sticky and left me with a hunger for more. But do not think I chose this life of questionable behavior, it actually found me, sought me out as I was minding my own business, trying to get from A to B. Suddenly due to a work commitment, I needed a digital camera. I had been thinking of buying one, but didn’t want to be unfaithful to my 35mm who has travelled around the world with me twice. A more faithful companion I could not ask for and yet suddenly I was forced to commit photographic polygamy. Not only that, but now I have to swing both ways. Sometimes film, sometimes pixels. I feel confused and no longer sure of my identity.

I asked driver where I could get a digital camera and he muttered something unintelligible and I said “that sounds fantastic, let us go at once!” You know me and my sense of adventure. Before I knew it we had sped past India Gate (where I am now, coincidentally enough) and were soon squeezing the car into a tiny little space at CP where we caught the metro to Chandni Chowk. The scene got dodgier and dodgier with every passing meter. I followed driver through the crowded and chaotic streets and soon e were at our destination. My very own Garden of Eden and before long, temptation set in. More megapixels than I could possibly count found there way under my nose and for prices that rivaled McDonalds. I was shopping the grey market. Not illegal, not legal. That grey area were our internal Jiminy Crickets cry out to us “Stop! You’ll never be a real boy if you choose that path!”

But like happens to a lot of crickets, I crushed him with one stomp of my cerebral Prada loafers. I tried out model after model, becoming more and more obsessed as the screens got larger. Size matters, baby and I was looking for some “Oh my God, that’s HUGE!” Finally, I saw it. Sitting there looking all meek and pretty, shy in a sexy and glamorous sort of way. It whispered my name. I held it in my hands, stroking the smoothness, feeling the hardness. It was the perfect size. I slipped the guy some money and he handed me my camera and all the accessories and manuals all wrapped in plastic and scotch tape, stuffed in a discreet plastic black sack. No receipt, just his mobile number on the back of a business card.