Moving to Delhi as a teen, I discovered the figure of the “crass Punjabi”. Those who considered themselves refined shuddered at the thought of crass. They didn’t mean those who lived in posh places like Sujan Singh Park, but post-Partition migrants, gaining a commercial foothold in the city. They had money, but alas, no taste. Those shuddering at them may or may not have had money — but apparently, they had “class.” One example of crass was “may-roon” lipstick (as some not convent-educated Punjabi ladies mispronounced maroon) — “loud” as opposed to “subtle” rose pink and beige chiffon. Your money didn’t make you privy to the aesthetic and cultural codes established by people who had money before you. That’s how insiders and outsiders, jumped-up impostors and authentic inheritors were sorted. Social change ignored via snobbery.