That’s why there’s a whole culture around them. People lean in and ask, ‘Where’d you get those? Lenskart or Flipkart?’ Nothing like this happens with a wheelchair. Nobody rolls up and says, ‘Sweet ride, bro! Are those tires CEAT or MRF?’
Glasses are also loyal. They follow you even after death. When my uncle passed away and we were about to bury him, my auntie shouted, ‘You forgot his glasses!’ Auntie, he’s forgotten this world.
Here’s another thing I’ve noticed. People wear glasses for everything: reading, writing, whatever. But the moment they have to look at something important, they take them off. As if less eyesight will show them more. Then I realised the glasses are usually just muddy. But still, instead of cleaning the mud, we remove the glasses and squint harder.
Mostly, though, our glasses work. The one place they fail is a 3D movie. Those glasses over my glasses? Every time, it’s a crisis. Which goes inside, which goes outside? Which is the underwear and which is the track pant? It’s a juggling game. I’m not watching a movie; I’m performing a circus act in the dark. Which is why the 3D industry never hit its peak: people with glasses just aren’t enjoying it.
I’m also insanely clumsy, so I’ve visited the chashma shop more often than the barber, which says more about my hair than my glasses. After years of breaking frames, I’ve learned the optical market comes down to four kinds of places.
First, the neighbourhood guy. Mine is GSK Optics, near Hafizpet. Ask me if he’s good, and I’ll say, ‘He’s only good to me, because he accepts that I’m a hazard.’ He knows I drop, sit on and crush my frames, so he gives me ones built like TMT bars. Construction grade. He inflates the price, I ask for 50% off, and we settle at 25%. He is the only guy in the world who has my phone number and my power number saved, and he tightens my screws for free. This guy will attend my wedding one day.
Then there’s the luxury showroom. Giant glass displays, Salman Khan cutouts at the entrance. They sell features for problems you didn’t even know existed. ‘Sir, blue-cut protects you from radiation.’ Really? Are my eyes that fragile? Do they need armour? I tell them, ‘Bro, I’ll break these in two weeks.’ They smile and sell me the ‘indestructible’ pair for Rs 10,000. A week later, I’m back at GSK: ‘Bro, please just solder this.’
Next, the corporate chain. Lenskart and co. Receptionist, crisp uniforms, full corporate behaviour. But I love the machine. It’s the only time in adult life you get to stare at a peaceful rainbow or a tiny house in a far-off field. It’s like a small holiday to Ireland for 10 seconds. Then the eye test: A, X, Y, Z, P, T. It’s Candy Crush with letters. ‘Is 1 better, or 2?’ You feel like you’re unlocking achievements. All in all, it’s an engaging activity.
And finally, the OG: Chashme Wali Gali, Koti. One lane where every shop sells only glasses. The same frames sit in every shop, just under different lighting, so they look like different people. With 1,500 shops fighting for you, it’s cheap, good and fast. If I have time but no money, this is where I go.
So, where do you get your glasses from?
Sandesh
@msgfromsandesh
(This comedian is here to tell funny stories about Hyderabad)
(The writer’s views are his own)