The illusion of normality

India is different in many aspects. It's poorer, more chaotic, friendlier, often happier, warmer, more humid, spicier and in desperate need of small change. I come to think about my Moscow days, when, with pockets full of nothing but 1,000 ruble bills thanks to the well-to-do target clientele of the Radisson SAS teller machin, I desperately tried to stuff my shopping basket full of biscuits, crisps, expensive Belgian chocolates and other sweets simply to avoid the social stigma of asking for more than 100 rubles in change at my local grocery store. The local chemist here once awarded me some rupees worth of Mentos, as their local balance sheet didn't have enough cash at hand to support operations, at least not of the appropriate very small values.

There are, though, places of conceived normality (from a Western person's perspective). These are the Ahmedabad malls, which look fairly similar to their distant Western cousins. Their supermarkets at first sight should leave nobody disappointed. They're huge and well stocked, with everything from clothes to groceries, kitchenware, sports equipment and electronics on display. Now this might all seem well enough and like a place to discreetly run away to when the need to experience something home-like (at least if you squint somewhat) sets in. An illusion, indeed. The bubble first bursts at about the time when you have successfully acquired a bottle of shampoo, then asks for some body wash to go with it. "I'm sorry, we're out of it." 16 different kinds of shampoo and not a single bottle of body wash spell supply chain management 101 utter failure like nothing else. Disregarding the sudden disappointment you then quickly try to pull the illusion back together again, however the project almost instantly fails beyond recovery with the following short dialogue: "Excuse me, do you have toilet paper?" "No."

Bought an electric kettle, though. And there was much rejoicing.