The Uncleji that sold bras

Flash back to school days. When mothers always took it upon themselves, at least mine did, to make an expedition out of buying bras for her daughter. And my mother believed that the best kind of bras were the the functional, sturdy, white cotton bras. And that the best place to buy these best bras was Indraprastha lingerie store at CP.

In- dra- prastha. Indraprastha. Indra- prastha. No matter how you say it, Indraprastha does not invoke lingerie. Nor sexy, nor lacy.

Say Indra- prastha. Now say, Victoria's secrets. Or La Senza. Now say Indraprastha again. You get the drift.

And the icing on the cake that was Indraprastha, was the bra selling Uncleji in Indraprastha.

Rotund, bald, pant suit wearing Uncleji. The undisputed king of the bra counter. No pantie or sock selling for this Uncleji. Nooooo, let the ladies handle that counter. This gent handles the bras.

Uncleji- the star salesman. With years of expertise in selling bras. Uncleji with the balding head, which he frequently rubbed. And a beer belly which he rubbed on occasion.

Uncleji with a very loud voice. The very loud voice with which he which he announced to everyone in the store and outside- haanji madam, bitiya ke liye brassiers?

And then in that loud voice, he yelled to mysterious man in a mysterious loft in the ceiling of the store that stored all the white cotton sturdy functional bras " Oye Chotu, ek 34 B dena."

Mysterious chotu in the mysterious loft would then throw down various boxes of bras in 34 B.

Cut to Uncleji. Who would then then with a swoop of his head and belly caressing hands, take the bras out of those boxes and hold them up for everyone to see. And for some strange reason , once again announce your bra size for everyone in the store and outside the store. 34 B.

And because that was not excruciating enough, Uncleji would procees to loudly announce the benefits of the above mentioned bra. Very strong, madam. Comfortable. Very beautiful. yeh detail dekhiye madam.

Acha, biitiya, abhi try kar ke aao. ....

Meanwhile, Bitiya (me) was pretending to not hear him. In fact , pretending that he does not exist. In fact, pretending that she did not exist. And that she was not currently engaged in a discussion about a bra with a rotund, beer belly rubbing Uncleji who was explaining to her that this bra is very strong.

And if that is not excruciating enough, Uncleji sizes me up. Take note now, that I am not buying shoes here. So when Uncleji sizes me up, yup, he sizes me up. One thing I'll grant him , he does it professionally. Not seedy, not cheesy. "Bitiya, aap yeh 36 C bhi try kar lo."

And then proceeds to loudly announce to mysterious man in loft and all bystanders in CP that I might , in his opinion be a 36 C. Oye chotu, ek 36 C dena.

So then I proceed to the fitting room. I can still hear Uncleji having a conversation with my mom about the benefits of the bra. I stay in the fitting room for a very long time. If I could have styed there forever, I would have.

But I couldn't have so, I walk out and Uncleji asks me if the bra fit well. And really if there was a moment when the earth should have opened up and swallowed me, that was it. Because then I would not have had to have a conversation with my eager mom and eager Unlceji about how the bra fit and how I was indeed a 34 B and Uncleji responded to say he was surprised because his assessment was still that I was a 36 C. I pretty much blanked out after that.

Next thing I remember was my mom was happy.Our bra buying expedition had been successful. Uncleji was happy. He was indeed the superstar salesman. I am sure mysterious Chotu in the loft was happy. Another random Uncleji in one corner of the store seemed happy. I have no idea why.

Me, I had added two more white, cotton, strong, sturdy bras to my bra collection. My bra collection from Indraprastha.

And I was pretty much contemplating joining the burn the bra movement.