There will be very few Indian women who have not been fascinated at some point by the fantasy created by hawkers and vendors.
Growing up in Kolkata, it was common to find hawkers selling different things on the streets. One of the most memorable was the process of exchange of old utensils with some old clothes for new utensils. Every time the seller would make a specific request for the type of clothes he wanted, and every time my mother would grudgingly accept it. For the utensil that was being received in return was of utmost importance in her day-to-day life.
The other adventure was of course shopping before the Durga Puja or before the Bengali New Year. Buying anything from a shop didn’t present much of a challenge or create any excitement in us. The real pleasure lay in buying from street vendors. And what a wonderful collection of goods one could spot along the streets in a city’s nooks and corners. Be it dress, bedspreads or junk jewellery, stroll along the streets in certain areas any time of the day and you see all the hues of the world.
Once you start evincing interest in and looking at any of the displayed items, a host of vendors would be upon you. “Ki didi, konta pochondo? Oi sobuj ta? Dekhun na, dekhte to paisa lage na” (O sister, which one do you prefer? That green one? Just have a look, you don’t have to pay for looking at it).
And then, more often than not we would fall prey.
Take earrings. It would seem these are the ones you had been looking for for ages, and they come before you in all possible designs, each one more beautiful than the previous one.
Now that you have decided to buy one, the customary conversation begins. “So, what is the price?” “Rs. 100.” “How much should I pay?” “Rs. 95.” “Tell me the exact price.” “Ok didi, give 90.” “No, you’re quoting far too much. Keep it, I don’t want it.” At this point, holding my sister and me, my mother would start moving. The vendor would then keep calling: “O didi, how much are you ready to pay? “ “Rs. 50“
“Didi, don’t you think it is too little? Ok, pay Rs. 60.” And so finally the deal is struck for Rs. 55, thus leaving both customer and seller satisfied. And this power of bargaining would be inherited by the daughters.
While in university whenever my exclusive women friends’ circle wanted to add some adventure to our boring life, we would take a tour of one of the shopping destinations and enjoy ourselves thoroughly.
My job has allowed for a two-year-long training covering the length and breadth of the country. One part of exploring different parts of each city I have been to has been a visit to the local market for a bit of shopping. There is no dearth of traditional handmade things in any part of India. Some places are known for certain products — like pearls in Hyderabad and chikan work in Lucknow.
I have been to the big, snazzy showrooms as well as small roadside shops. In some places it may have been something worth of collection — like products made from the gold sandstone of Jaisalmer. In some places I have bargained shamelessly when we felt the shopkeeper was charging too much.
In other places we have been subtle since what was on offer would be a wonderful work and the asking price would be far less than what it deserved.
Now I am in Delhi, and shopping at Sarojini Nagar or Lajpat Nagar is a regular ritual. We don’t even leave window-shopping in the roadside shops of Connaught Place and the adjacent Janpath and Palika Kendra. The trick of bargaining remains the same. This seems to be an eternal process that transcends boundaries.
madhuraroy@gmail.com
