All that glitters is 22 carat gold

 

We Indian women are crazy about possessing gold. We hold 11% of the world’s gold reserves, and yet yeh dil mange more—the skyrocketing gold rates be damned! We love gold. Brides are decked up in gold. They shine like gold. Gold is offered to God as a bribe or as a gesture of gratitude. Would God be happier if you gave real gold instead of fashion jewellery? We believe  so. At festivals, goddesses adorn only gold ornaments. Gold facials give you a gold-like glow. People kill for gold, and gold smuggling is quite rampant. We even eat gold—gold dosas in Bengaluru. We love all things gold-plated, real gold Zari on our clothes, all that glittery, golden magic.

Gold is no longer just the fancy of women; men want it too. The gold shops are crowded as always. Malabar, Tanishq, and the like are busy serving delicious frothy coffee along with gold. People are accumulating gold, and our love for it is only growing, along with the rates. Malabar is my favourite coffee shop—their frothy coffee is yum.

Earlier, gold was streedhan, an investment, a security for the married woman. But now there are so many other options—property, stocks, mutual funds. But gold is gold. In the wake of a wobbly stock market, it can be said that gold can never be bearish—unless you're walking alone on a dark street.

Recently, Indian women don’t wear as much gold. They equally love costume jewellery for the variety it offers and for its affordability. But still, we buy gold on every possible occasion, though we know it will ultimately be transferred from one locker to another. We also love wearing gold-plated or imitation jewellery that can fool people into thinking we're wearing 22-carat gold.

Once, at Kushal’s, a well-known store for costume jewellery, I was trying on a gold-looking choker. I was in a dilemma about whether I should buy it. Sensing my confusion, the store guy said, “Madam, it looks like you’ve just walked out of a Tanishq store.”

“Okay, pack it then,” I replied. I sealed the deal, giving myself a mental pat on the back for buying a necklace that looked worth five lakhs for just two thousand. It was a smart deal. This is what I call customer satisfaction for both the seller and the customer.

I remember a few years ago in Chandigarh, around noon, a neighbour aunty was haggling with the vegetable vendor outside her house when two bike-borne men stopped in front of her. One of them distracted her by asking for an address, while the pillion rider grabbed her thick gold chain and fled. Startled, she shouted, “Meri 45 gm ki chain le gaye, koi pakdo!” (They stole my 45-gram gold chain! Someone catch them!) The neighbourhood women came rushing, offering sympathy, and equally envious of the woman for flaunting her 45-gram gold chain. More women joined.

A few minutes later, the same bike stopped near them. Before anyone could understand why the thieves were back, one of them shouted, “You made us take so much risk for this fake chain.” And then, he hurled abuses, throwing the chain at the woman. They left. The woman’s face turned golden, her eyes cast down. The fake chain had let her down in front of her neighbours. Real gold wouldn’t have. 

Images for representation only (Source - internet)