More Adventures Back Home - Shopping In India

In addition to all the time and money we spent eating in India, the husband and I decided to also spend some time and money on things that we could not shove down our throats. The husband began by being a more reluctant shopper and always insisted that he already had way too many of whatever it is you were offering to buy him. I, on the other hand was thrilled no end at the opportunity to pick up clothes at the fashion streets in Delhi/Mumbai, or paintings, gem earrings, pottery at Rajasthan. As it turned out things soon changed.

So we started at Udaipur, at a government run fair called Shilpa Gram. My mother in law who had come us on our trip to Rajasthan was also with us on this day. Shilpa Gram charges a small entry fee and so is able to provide the craftsmen with shop space free of cost. Inside, there were performing artists who danced and sang for all the visitors, painters and potters who explained their craft, huts built in the style of villages. I was afraid that it might be a little too touristy but I really enjoyed myself and would highly recommend the place to all.

As we ambled in and started to take in the shops, I shooed away my husband. Armed with a digital SLR camera with all the bells and whistles including a change of lens and three filters, I thought he would hurt our chances of getting a good price. After expressing his indignation and hurt with mock anger and sad faces, he walked off more than a little happy to be free of the talk about bandhini sarees and unglazed pottery. In fact, the next time I turned around, he had put a suspiciously large distance between us. He was well out of hearing range while being within visual range. He smiled and waved charmingly at us and looked happier than I have ever seen him look at a shopping expedition with me.

I, on the other hand, was following my mother-in-law around in the saree stalls area and was awed at how this sweet spoken lady was able to bargain with the most experienced of shopkeepers without ever being even slightly impolite. Year after year of shopping at malls has left me rather unprepared for the deft exchanges that I watched my mother-in-law exchange with the shopkeepers.

Determined nevertheless to try, I walked over to a line of pottery shops and stared intently at the pots. The women tending the stores took one look at me and seemed to disregard me almost instantly as a potential customer. But as soon my mil walked over to join me, there was a swarm of activity around her as all the potters clamored for her attention. I tried valiantly not to let there estimation of me discourage me and managed to find the one potter who had missed my mil's arrival. Fortunately, he was bored enough to show me a few of pots and I bought a couple things to take back with me.

We had a few more minutes before the place closed for the evening and in this time my mil picked up a couple of sarees and my husband came back with a gorgeous scroll painting. We all left Shilpa Gram rather contentedly.

My husband still smarting under the insult that had been heaped at his cameras ability to drive up prices was very proud of his bargain.

"He wanted 450 for the painting and I was able to talk him down to 200"

My mil on the other hand had also bought a couple of sarees for almost 40% less than what the shopkeeper had wanted.

Husband looked pointedly at my bags and said

"What did you buy?"

"I bought a pot for dahi and a terracotta water pot."

"What did you pay for it?"

"100 rupees."

"That's a good buy. What did he want for it?"

"110"

A stifled giggle later - "Well, at least you did not give him 120."

Hmph!!

Edited to Add-

I wanted to add a few pictures of Shilpa Gram - the pictures are courtesy the camera toting husband.

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And this continued for the rest of the trip. At Palika Bazaar in Delhi this exchange took place between my husband and a belt seller.

"Ye belt kithne ka hai?"

As usual, on spotting a well fed couple armed with a touristy DSLR camera, the man promptly replied -

"Only 450 saar."

Then he proceeded to twist and turn the belt to show us how indestructible it was.

I had been told to counter at 50 to 60 percent of quoted price. But after seeing the feats the belt could perform had decided that 350 was a very good price for it. I was about to whisper my suggestion to my husband when-

"100 doonga."

The man looked aghast, insulted, almost speechless.

"Kya saar. First class belt hai."

He then took out a lighter and showed us that even fire was unable to damage this prince among belts.

"100"

In the meanwhile, I started looking around to try and map the clearest route to the exit so that if the poor shopkeeper decided to resort to violence to counter my husband's insulting bid, I would be able to get away relatively unscathed. Clearly early success had gone to his head.

Three minutes later, husband had the belt tucked into his backpack after paying shopkeeper 100 bucks, who is now smiling almost guiltily at my husband.

After we walk away from the shop, husband turned around and confronted me - "You realize you took a step away from me when I was bargaining with him. Were you going to run away?"

No, no honey I would never do that. I would have walked confidently into the crowd and pretended that I did not know you :).

A Trip Back Home

I am back from a 4 week long trip. The trip which included visits to Mumbai, Rajasthan, New Delhi and Singapore was among the most fun I have had in some time. This, despite the fact that my husband and I have a decent vacation budget. Even as you find us reaching for the recesses of bottom shelf for the cheapest in department stores, vacations and bars are where we like to see our monies going waste. So that, at the end of it all, we have nothing but a sun tan and a hangover to call our own (hmm maybe we need to revisit our fiscal strategy).

This trip to India was my first in three years and I was a more than a little apprehensive about the whole thing. Back home is, unfortunately, not just a physical space but also a space in time. And, I did not want to go back to India and find myself unhappy or bored. I was worried that I would forever taint the memories of my childhood and youth. I was afraid the place would have changed too much, the my relatives would no longer feel a bond with me, the my friends would have no time for me, that I would be an outsider in my own country.

As it turns out, India had no time to notice that I had changed. Apart from me, nobody else seemed to notice that I was gone for three years. I had the most fabulous time. The streets, the people, the food. I loved how when my husband and I pulled to the side of a street and asked for directions, people would argue among themselves before telling us the "besht way" to a place. At one point we found ourselves stuck in our car in an extremely narrow road that was probably two wheeler only. Stuck in the front of a traffic jam with everybody behind us honking away, the pedestrians actually smiled and pulled the parked bikes on the side of the road out of the way and then guided us out of the street. I have not felt more at home in a very long time.

I also spent quality time visiting some friends and relatives, chatting up my cousins and annoying my ma by leaving the wet towel on the bed. Just like old times.

And the food. Oh the food!!. The husband and I ignored all warnings and spent all our time there eating street food for almost every meal (that we could manage over the constant protests of his parents and my mother). And with such food available constantly and so cheaply, I am surprised that everybody there does not weigh a 100 kg. The highlights were - vada pav in Bombay, samosa and kesar kulfi in Rajasthan, tikki and golgappa in Delhi.

In the last week of my trip away, I spent a few days in Singapore visiting with my brother. Singapore is a beautiful, friendly city that I really enjoyed visiting. My brother and I also spent some time catching up. Our bonding, apart from chatter over large drinks served in marmalade jars ( courtesy very nice bar called Nueva Cuba with live music in Clarke Quay) , consisted of shared stories about the disturbingly similar aches and pains that we had both noticed - clearly a result of the defective genes that our parents had managed to pass on to us in a predictably consistent fashion. I am a couple of years older than my brother and while I seemed to have missed out on the genes that makes my brother a successful, socially well adjusted, confident young man I do seem to share those that resulted in flat feet and flawed skin. My brother seemed to view my physical ailments as his future. Somehow, I found it in my heart to push aside the obvious insult in that and warned him gravely about how his body was about to let him down. Being an older sister is a tough job but someone has to do it :).

I came back yesterday and miss India ,my mother and tikki quite badly. I also feel a new energy and a certain lightness that I have not felt in a long time. The husband and I are going to have to start shopping in the dollar store - so we can make room in our budget for more trips to India and cocktails served in jars.

Hello Aunty!!

I left India in 2004 and landed in Portland, Oregon. The first week outside India I was thrilled to see any fellow Indian on the streets of the USA. I greeted every Indian I met with a smile whose warmth and emotion is perhaps best reserved for long lost twins and separated lovers reuniting on "Who Wants To Be a Millionaire". My greeting had varying results. Some people acknowledged my smile weakly after looking around them to make sure I was looking at them ( or maybe they were looking for closest exit) or surprise/ shock followed by putting their head down and walking away with a ever quickening pace. Soon I realized that since I went to graduate school and my degree was in engineering Indians on streets was not a yahoo moment but something that I should come to expect (We did form two thirds of the population of most of my classes).

So the general "Indian spotting" got old for me. I made some Indian friends but did not stalk all the Indians who had enrolled in my college or rented an apartment in my neighbourhood. I settled down and opened up and the Indian thing was soon a lot less important.

I have, however, noticed a quirk that first appeared in college and though it is dormant for the most part, rears its head every once in a while. There is no way of saying this without sounding weird but I find elder Indian parents just irresistible. My stalker alter ego, it seems did not disappear altogether -- it had only morphed itself. I am not normally a very friendly person and it takes me time to actually get a good conversation going. But with the parent type introductions, communication etc was just not a problem. I found myself brazen in my introductions and almost forceful with conversation - "Hello Aunty!!! ". In Oregon with its relatively sparse Indian population I once followed a kanchivaram saree clad maami around in the vegetable aisle offering to help carry stuff until she looked uncomfortable, suspicious and shuffled off to the checkout counter with what I suspect was only a couple of bunches of coriander (not the most convincing grocery list). When I shifted to New Jersey with its large Indian population I found I was much more at home. So I thought all my India withdrawal symptoms had disappeared altogether. Little did I know.

This Sunday husband and I went visiting old friends and lo and behold I found the mother was visiting them. All my old symptoms were back. Hello Aunty!! I followed the lady around and watched her dole out 20 fluffy chapathis with total absorption. I gushed non stop throughout the meal and kept offering to serve the lady the food she had prepared while spilling food on her lovely shawl. I enquired about when she was leaving for India and came up with different occasions for them to visit us. I also made mental plans about how I was going to get myself invited again. After spending a good hour behaving in this fashion I reined myself in and said my goodbyes. The India fever had clearly not been cured completely.

And if I am honest with myself, this fascination of mine is probably not just about missing India. Though I will never admit to missing my mother to her face, I do wish we could spend more time together so we could disagree about every single thing under the sun say over a meal I made that she is still complaining about. I have visited fairly often and we do a lot of arguing over Skye but it hardly as good as the real thing. I think I might actually admit to missing her if I say do something drastic like act on my whim of kidnapping of my friends parents or start making crank calls Ka Ka Ka Kiran style. Until then.....

Recipe - Made dabeli this weekend. I did not contribute to our dinner table much this last week.We went out a couple of times and the husband has cooking bug so insists on cooking almost everyday. I am going to milk it while it lasts :)

Shopping - A Complete Sport

I have become an unenthusiastic shopper. Do not rush to any conclusions - I still recite the chants of consumerism that plague this country ( and quite honestly the world ),march to the drum beats of department store, sway to the song of the supermarkets ... well you get the picture. But the act of shopping in itself has just lost its charm for me.

Shopping some years ago in India was a total package. The first step was to assemble a bunch of your friends/ relatives all of whom had their designated competencies. There was the "Bargainer" - this person can muster a disbelieving sneer at even the rock bottom prices quoted by men with shops set up in the scorching sun under an umbrella on the pavement. This talent would have been insufficient without the ability to counter any offer with 30% of the quoted price, with complete confidence and lock and maintain eye contact with said (skinny, probably starving, father of 6, caregiver of elderly parents) shopkeeper.

Then there was the "Fashion Expert" - this was the person who could stick her hand into a pile of export surplus, button missing, fashion disasters and pick up the one great piece, the one thing that will probably make the outfit that you bought with your mother in the branded store in Khan Market seem dowdy. This person could take one look at you and immediately divine the clothes that suit you, colours that bring out your eyes/hair/skin, and make suggestions about when the item of clothing can be worn.

Such a shopping trip would not have been successful without perseverance and patience. That brings me to the "One with the Stamina". Long after your sunscreen has worn off, your feet have given up, and your Bisleri is exhausted she perseveres. It is all about the hunt for this woman and she is no quitter. With her on your side you would try that 5th dress in the 8th store until you find the one that is just right.

Though not directly contributing the success of a shopping trip there is also the "Street Food Junkie" - she would ably guide you past the many mediocre chat shops to the one that makes the perfect tangy, melt in your mouth Suji Golgappa and also the "Very pleasant/ extremely pretty girl that all shopkeepers have discounts for".

Shopping then was a complete sport. These lovely women helped elevate shopping in India to a sport/ talent/ ability on par with learning an instrument (a harmonica perhaps, probably not a violin). Shopping rightly held its place in the activities section in the Orkut profile page along with hiking, reading and learning new languages. It required skill, endurance, training and as with any sport innate talent always helped. Long hours, lots of walking, people watching, navigating huge crowds all a part of this dying sport. At the end of such a day there was a sense of accomplishment and contentment that was a mix of an hour at the gym, a successful meeting where you beat the odds with your dazzling arguments, and a dark chocolate brownie with ice cream.

The scented, polished, branded version in America that is also fast becoming the dominant option in most large Indian cities offers the best in shopping but have laid the skills I developed all those years to waste. Now I just shop online and stare at travel shows with longing.

Recipe I tried and liked.

Pasta with Lentils and Carrot Recipe

My Constant Friend

I should have started with this one. There has been only one constant and unwavering interest in my life. I am a flake with serious lack of commitment to any one pursuit but this is different. It has stood by my me in bad times (perhaps too much) and has been there to make my good times better and has always received my "fullest" attention. The most loyal of my friends and loves - Food. 

This blog is because considering how important food is in my life, a tribute of sorts is long overdue. It has played such a major a part in everything in my life. It was over a plate of food that I noticed how much I like my then friend, now husband. A lot of acquaintances have turned friends because they knew about the best chat shop, best dosa in town, where they serve the perfect cup of kaapi. When I know examine my list of friends I am hard pressed to come up with someone who cannot wax eloquent about food. 

My love for food like all long relationships has changed and evolved with me.. Growing up in the heart of paratha land I had no appreciation for south Indian food. All sambhars tasted the same, rasam was to be avoided completely and unless it was my mothers divine alu sabji made with sambhar podi I had no time for any of the karis. I envied all my classmates with the parathas and puris and chole and burjis. And the karmic cycle is now being completed with me trying to reproduce my mothers wonderful dishes and making long distance calls for recipes. How could I have been so ignorant? Most restaurants here serve up a half way decent nan and paneer (mughlai food from india is like pizza from italy, our export to the world outside to be made your own) but few try and succeed in capturing the subtleties of the south indian fare. The simple, pristine white, soft, delicious idli, the kootus, the chutneys, the thuvaiyals all with their own flavour, subtle, one of a kind and even (god forbid) healthy. 

When I first landed here I stayed away from all restaurants to avoid any and all traces of meat and meat like ingredients in my food. After the initial months of enthusiastic cooking and carrying dabbas to work I weakened and because visiting the distant Indian restaurant was not always an option I decided to visit one of the nearby restaurants. I was assured that Mexican food was very vegetarian friendly and so off I went. It did not go well. Refried beans came off like a poor cousin of the rajma, the Spanish rice would have tasted so much better if it had been more like paruppa sadam and the tortillas were done wrong because why would anybody make them like this when somewhere in the world people knew how to make phulkas and chapathis? Needless to say I have changed my mind since then. New Jersey has a shocking lack of good Mexican restaurants and I feel their absence dearly. 

Since my arrival here I have been compelled to give new cuisines a shot while also having the opportunity to miss so many fine options from back home. Italian, chinese, malay, thai, sushis all have a place in my heart. My one regret (this one always gets a rise out of my very vegetarian husband :) ) is that I do not eat meat and will never fully experience a world of cuisine that is beyond those shut doors ( damn my upbringing).

ye delhi hai mere yaar

It was a Saturday night, the hubby and I had been invited to dinner with a bunch of his friends. It was a cold evening and once inside we were seated in the front of fireplace in a lovely living room. These were my husband friends so my plan was to sound charming, polite, well informed, and funny but use only very subtle, politically correct jokes ( Do I know how to do that?!!!). Well the plan was at least to do my best impression of the above.

The evening started with a glass of wine/ poison of your choice. Since the "plan" did not include rant, raves, funnies followed by my "evil laugh", or graceless dancing, ( one particular night hopping to Koi Kahe from Dil chahtha hai when parents were out of town leaps to mind) I refused all further refills. The party however continued without me. 

Dinner was served and the guys approached us with a drink in hand. They were clearly having a great time and with a certain amount of purpose in their step they sat down facing us. The conversation started pleasantly enough, music, food, restaurants, vacations, obama(what conversation does not include him) and then things took a turn. We were talking about south indians - north indians, women's rights, working women. All inflammatory topics that would have had a more unprepared me foaming in the mouth, cursing and shaking my fist in the air. But though I did venture to add my two cents worth to all the topics I stayed on course with my eye on the end of the evening when I would take my leave with my head held high.

The drift towards these more hazardous waters was not gradual (the party had most definitely gone on without me) and I realized that I was being Baited!! The purpose in their step and the glint in their eyes should have clued in me but it was a Saturday evening and the hot food, fireplace, little pretty appetizers ( I am a sucker for presentation) had mellowed me. Now that I was onto their plan for this evening's "entertainment" I gave myself a little pep talk and faced them with with renewed resolve. My pleasant face strained my facial muscles, my mouth hurt with all the teeth gritting and my neck throbbed courtesy thoughtful head bobbing. I am an adult, I couldn't be baited as a party sport, I am a calm, collected, together person .

And then it happened. One of them with a smile that betrayed his knowledge that he knew this was jackpot turned to me and said " I hate Delhi. People are so rude, it is crowded and polluted". All my resolutions went flying out the window, my knuckles unclenched, my smile melted and it was SO ON.... After all that what followed of course was the argument that they had been thirsting for all night. 

We ended the night with me a little ashamed and the rest with a poorly disguised self congratulatory grin. The evening did make me realize how much Delhi meant to me. I have lived in Delhi only for the first 17 years of my life and have never found my way back but I my heart belongs to Delhi.

Rashtra Baasha

Like most Indians I can speak more than one language and identify with more than a single culture in India. I am Tamil girl brought up in Delhi have been able to speak up to the three languages (Hindi, Tamil and English) with relative ease. Needless to say this was not easy. With my parents bombarding me in Tamil and the rest of Delhi in Hindi, English was my safe haven. Hindi and Tamil came to be neglected a bit in my childhood and teen years. After 4 years in Pondicherry where I went to college and the endless jokes about my Tamil (that is another blog), my Tamil speaking skills have improved and is in relatively good shape. I am especially proud of this since I can not read or write in Tamil and the only way to I can improve my spoken Tamil is by constant use. My spoken Hindi however is another story.

I did not realize how much my already sub par language skills had deteriorated till recently when husband and I went visiting a couple from UP. I have now realized that the only time the onus of conversation is placed on my husband is when the language of conversation is Hindi else I am loudly expressing myself about whatever the topic of discussion is. This was one of those times. What with thinking in either Tamil or English and then having to translate it in my head into Hindi, the moments almost always gone and everybody is now talking about something else. On this occasion I resorted to listening, nodding and saying "haan haan barabar". Every once in a while I tried to contribute my 2 cents.

After M served us tea - thanks M ye chai bahuth achcha hai (acchi hai?)

Ling in Hindi!!! Cannot for the life of me remember whether a river is a she and a mountain a he. Not to digress but what would /should I do with say a toaster? I have entertained crowds with my total ignorance of the "lings" in Hindi.

And then

Thought in English - This wall hanging is really nice. It goes very well with what you have.

In Hindi - Ye (pointing now cos suddenly its a charade game) bahuth accha hain. Sab ke saath jaatha hain (the traveling wall painting).

Though I was not always this inept my struggle with the rashtra basha started early. In my eight class I had mixed fortune of having a Hindi teacher with a sense of humour. I am sure people with agree with me that this is a very rare breed. I have had/ heard of stylish English, art, sculpture teachers, passionate history teachers but the Hindi teachers were always a particularly bitter lot. They were without fail tough, unsmiling, strict graders and one of those few teachers who still believed in corporal punishment. Now Mrs Sikha was breath of fresh air. She was a middle aged lady with bright red hair as a result of ( or so I think) rather sporadic henna applications. Mrs Sikha would pick a pupil from class to read the passages and while most hindi teachers ignored my presence in class ( as they should) Mrs Sikha would always single me out for reading the passage. And while I struggled with some aid from a helpful fellow who whispered corrections to me Mrs Sikha would stare into space with a smile on her face and allow herself a small giggle only for my more ridiculous mistakes.

Most people I meet now are too polite to snicker at me and generally switch to either English or Tamil to make me feel more comfortable. This act of kindness has left me without any practice at all. But after my recent bolt of lightning type realization that I really cant speak the language well at all I have decided to practice up on my husband and all hapless Hindi speakers. Let this blog be fair warning. 

Very soon I might even be blogging in Hindi :).