Not to be confused with the Tale of Genji - that one is a venerated Japanese text. This one is an undergarment that covers the chest.
There were flagrant disparities when relatives doled out gifts to my children in India. My daughter got gold chains from her grandmother. My son got ganjis. My daughter got diamond earrings from her aunt. My son got ganjis. My daughter got silver anklets ... you get the idea.
Strange as it seems, I think my son got more pleasure from his gifts than my daughter did from hers. She handed me her gifts, which I put in the safe, where they stay till today. My son wore his ganjis out ... or at least till I threw them out when there were more holes than there was cloth.
To quote Seinfeld: “ Men wear their underwear until absolutely disintegrates. Men hang on to underwear until each individual underwear molecule is so strained it can barely retain the properties of a solid. It actually becomes underwear vapor. We don’t even throw it out, we just open a window and it goes out like dandelion spores. That’s how men throw out underwear ...” ... Or until mother/wife wait till the men are out of the house and bury it under the potato peels, tea leaves and other trash in the bin.
The ganji habit was inherited. Father and son never left home without one. If your chaati is covered, you won’t get a cold. Never mind the heat index is high enough to use the sidewalk as a tandoor, father and son will wear a ganji. And ... this year we welcomed the newest, ganjied member to our clan. Yes, we set the bar to enter our family pretty low.
Make sure you wear one when you cross the threshold.
Hilarious and witty as usual Bharti! Loved it.
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