Buying Bhindi at Patel Brothers

Yes, this is a vocal experience at an Indian grocery store in New Jersey, USA. On any weekend you step-in to buy staple goods in a simple shop. You tote a cart with wobbly wheels and meander in the produce aisle.

There is a lot of stuff; fresh and plenty. The shoppers too are many. Mostly, these are women, the fat assertive types who know their vegetables. Not much else is evident by looking at this hapless sample trying to please their brood. They descend on the “Bhindi” pile.

Bhindi is okra (not Oprah Winfrey) or ladies’ fingers (Ugh! If fingers were like that, I want no ladies caressing me). Ladies love Bhindi. It rekindles a nostalgic past. Ah! I grew up eating my “mother-cooked” Bhindi is their mute expression. Please lady, the Bhindi is cooked not the mother. It is so fulfilling, soulful. Such are their feelings. Private and titillating their minds wander in the vegetable aisle. It is so romantic and touchy. There is no need for a man then, no way.

First, they rape the object (okra) by touching it all over in a suggestive way. Then, they try breaking the tip, in palpitating anticipation. If the break is clean it goes in their collection. A climatic experience occurs. Otherwise, it is tossed with disdain. They are oblivious to other fat women performing the exact insidious act.

A sign in English says, “Break Bhindi pay double”. Only Patel can understand what that means. The shoppers are paying no attention to that sign. Are there Bhindi police to enforce it? I do not know. You look at this other woman next to you. She is having an affair with another Bhindi bunch. She does not even care you exist, she is indulging in the same act, nipping and tucking.

These submarine-like women have an imposing nose pin. Implication is don’t mess with me. I am pious! Her arms are like baseball bat. Her body is like a used beer barrel. Her height is slightly better than a Bhindi. She looks more used than the most used equipment in a gym. There is no trace of smile or even acceptance that she is in a public place. Ungracefully she wriggles her body to claim more room. Translation: Dude out of my way. I am going to possess the best of the Bhindi lot. Damn you!

In the end the poor Patel-Bhindi collection is only left with molested pods with ruptured attached tips. Who will give them a good home? What will happen to them? They are a social outcast. Damaged tips and unsolicited is their fate. Other not so fat women observe and pass. They know better and think Patel has only battered Bhindi. Poor Patel never has questioned the moral mores of Bhindi to begin with. He is so gullible. My heart goes for him. He is an innocent victim. He only wanted to bring Bhindi to his brethren. Alas! There are no more virgin Bhindi left to nip the tip. Poor Patel is left with maltreated material. Should he raise the price for this “tip breaking” test? This is the question that is challenging the entire Patel franchise. Please send your valuable suggestions. From one who never had an affair with a Bhindi will pass the suggestions on to Patel. He is stuck at the end of the day with compromised Bhindi.

Personally, I don’t like Bhindi they are slimy however, innocent. I promise to be objective. Thank you.