Finicky!

That’s me. Or as a friend puts it –I’m ‘picky’. Well that does for me too. One needs to invent words - or use slang - as so very often the dictionary does not supply one with the exact meaning!

So, why am I labeled ‘picky’? Well take buying fruit, for instance. I will zero in on what I want to buy while the fruit seller sounds off with his usual spiel on how fresh the fruit is and how he has laboured over its selection. And then I will subject the fruit to the nose test. All fresh and just ripe fruit gives off a lovely aroma, an individual scent that fills the nostrils and makes the mouth water. Fruit must pass the nose test, if I am to buy it, and the fruit seller dreads my nose because it is very finicky – the aroma must be just right and after years of sniffing, I am an expert!

The nose test does for leather too. The shoe and bag merchant is intrigued. He can argue till he runs out of breath that he is selling only ‘genuine’ leather. But then again, genuine leather has that lovely, warm whiff that only leather can give and which no amount of polish can mask. Which reminds me of a happy incident. At one of the Trade Fairs at the World Trade Centre (located in Mumbai) there was a leather goods stall representing wares from Kanpur. I lifted up the shoes on display and, eyes closed, inhaled deeply (hubby, accompanying me, was highly embarrassed). The manager trotted over and asked me if I was in the trade! (Hubby switched from embarrassed to impressed!) I explained that, in his army days, my father would buy leather from Kanpur from which my shoes would be made up by the local mochi. Today, custom made shoes are exclusive. When I was a pre-teenager, store bought shoes were considered a luxury and all footwear was sourced from the local mochi. He came, took left and right footprints, inspected the leather and departed to return in a fortnight with the final product. We would put on our shoes, which had room for feet to grow (tested by pressing hard on the big toes) and parade up and down till the comfort level was established. Those shoes lasted and lasted and lasted and were only discarded when outgrown.

I particularly remember a pair of red moccasins – fringed and tasseled – which were copied from a catalogue. They were my favourites till I read a story about a girl who demanded a pair of red dancing shoes. When she stepped into them, she was forced to dance forever and her feet had to be cut off – it was either that or a dance to the death. Stories for children are so macabre.

Well then, so I am finicky, pernickety (I love that one – it conjures up visions of a little old lady, bun skewered with a knitting pin, and metal rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of the nose!), fastidious, fussy, particular and yes, of course, picky – take your pick. They all apply.

And there’s one more thing I am fussy about and that is being forced to listen to unmusical sounds. Which is why, today, I will stuff my ears with cotton while children in schools all over India make it a point to murder the National Anthem.