Jingle Bling

For some weird reason, mom decided to get me microchipped the other day.

We were waiting for the veterinarian in the examination room, and there being no magazines, mom passed time looking at the periodontitis and heartworm disease posters on the wall. A microchip brochure happened to catch her eye, and purely on impulse, like when she buys a batch of Mrs. Field’s assorted nibblers at the mall because “it smelled so good,” mom authorized the vet to inject a chip in my shoulder.

The woman’s insecure that I might get lost. Where will I go? I’m under house arrest all day.

I now have three tags on my collar: a name tag with my phone number, a license and a microchip ID tag with a serial number. Maybe I should get my ears pierced and wear a shiny metal tag in each ear, like livestock. If they sold dog tags at Tirupathi with a photo of Lord Balaji and his consorts, I would no doubt have those in my collection, too.

With all this bling bling around my neck, I feel like I’m wearing a mangalsutra. Maybe that’s why a lot of the women I know don’t wear their yokes on a daily basis: you can’t creep up on anybody; the sharp edges poke your breasts; your hair gets caught in the chain; and, it’s an expensive piece of jewelry that doesn’t go with the majority of your outfits.

Mom tried to raise this last point with her parents when her marriage was being arranged a decade ago. The family had set off one sultry afternoon, well after rahu kalam had passed, to spend half the wedding budget on a pair of traditional diamond earrings that mom didn’t exactly fancy.

Mom: “They’re ugly! I don’t think I’ll ever wear them.”
Grandma: “Hush, they’re diamonds!”
Mom: “Agreed. But there’s still ugly. Besides, only mamis wear them. And if some of them carry doshas, why even bother taking a risk?”
Grandpa: “It is our tradition. You should always be proud of your culture.”
Mom: “I still think it’s a waste of money.”
Grandpa and grandma: “Be quiet! Don’t say something inauspicious on this auspicious occasion.”

Later that month, mom vainly raised the same argument while her parents pored over nine yards of silk at Nalli.

Mom: “Why are you wasting money on a nine-yard sari I’ll never wear again?”
Grandpa: “It is our tradition. You should be proud of who you are.”
Mom: “First, those ugly diamond studs that you said have no resale value, and now this ... I'm going to look like a clown!”
Grandma: “Stop fussing! And don’t say such inauspicious things in front of your future in-laws. What will they think?”

As mom foresaw, after the wedding, the stained, crumpled nine-yard sari lay in a sweaty heap on the floor, until it was folded and put away in grandma’s Godrej, never to be seen again.

The flower-shaped diamond studs - first and last worn at the same wedding - currently reside in a safety deposit box somewhere, waiting for mom to reach mami status.