The road to MI was particularly crowded. Perhaps it was getting late and the evening traffic was filling up the roads quickly. After making a few turns, Lakhbir told me I had reached MI road. I looked doubtful since it didn’t resemble much of a shopping street. Besides a few shops, there wasn’t much to shop or eat. I told Lakhbir I would be back in an hour as he parked his car.
The Roads of Jaipur
The sky was getting darker, and the winds were blowing quite strongly. I walked quickly up the road, and came across a shop that sold pashmina shawls. I had wanted to go in, but was afraid I’d get swindled again, and so I walked ahead, hoping to find a bookshop. I came to the end of a row of shops and I knew if I had walked ahead more, there wouldn’t be much to shop either, and so I made a turn back. Just then, it started to drizzle. I quickly pulled my hood over my head to shelter me from the rain. But the rain started to come down in big drops of water, only to drive me into the shop selling pashmina shawls! I figured, if I were to get stuck in the rain, I might as well be stuck in a shop I could do some browsing in!
The Kashmirian men welcomed me almost immediately. I began to wonder if history would repeat itself. I asked to look at some bells with intricate designs, made of paper. I thought they would make nice gifts for my colleagues back home. After I chose some to buy, one of them decided to show me some shawls. Honestly, he was really nice. He pulled out almost all the different kinds of shawls to show me the difference in quality, and the difference in price. And so with the rain pouring outside, he explained the difference between Kashmir wool and Pashmina wool. The former comes from the belly, thus giving a rougher texture, while the latter comes from the chin of the animal, giving a finer texture. I also learnt about the difference in pricing, the hybrids (mixed with silk for use in summer and winter) and the ultimate pure pashmina with hand embroidery, usually bought as bridal gifts - a whopping 25000 rupees!
As he was speaking to me halfway, the shop was hit with a loud bang and the shop turned pitch black. I was stunned for a moment and was thankful that the street lights outside shed some light into the shop through the glass doors and windows. Funnily, the man continued talking to me as if none of this happened, until I told him, “I can’t see you!”
“Oh, don’t worry. You just listen to me.” He then asked his colleagues to switch on the generator and within minutes, the lights were back on. They did all these in such a calm manner, it seemed as if this was an everyday affair!
I finally gave in and bought Grace a shawl, and one for myself. They were far more expensive than what I bought at the Sheraton, but I know there were far better in quality. I paid 6200 rupees in all for 2 shawls, the bells and stars. I definitely felt the pinch of having spent so much, but I figured it made a good gift for Grace. Plus, that was the only shop I could get something decent.
I left the shop since the storm had faded into a drizzle. I walked fast towards where Lakhbir parked his car just in case it decided to rain again. I wouldn’t want to be caught in another shop! Then suddenly, a slim Indian man stopped me and asked me for a few minutes. I really wanted to get back to the car as I was already 5 minutes late, but the man insisted on a conversation with me. I tried to excuse myself but he seemed offended.
“Why do you foreigners like to come to India but you are so unfriendly with us?”
That stopped me in my tracks and standing in the light drizzle, I tried to think of an answer. It got me thinking for a while, and I gave the reason that it could be because of the language difference, or they were afraid speaking to strangers (just like I was).
“Then why come if you are afraid?”
Again, that got me thinking. He did make a valid point and it got me realizing again why I was there for. Still I think it takes a lot of guts and an open mind to dare venture the kaleidoscope of cultures, class and income capacity. The differences seem so vast yet it's amazing how these locals seem to know their place in this country they call their home. As a foreigner, I ask myself how and where can I fit in without being seen as a foreigner?
I finally excused myself, telling him I had a friend waiting for me. An Indian friend. Indeed, after the incident at Fatehpur Sikri, I did regard Lakhbir as a friend. He seemed happy to know a foreigner like me had an Indian friend.
It took Lakhbir a while to get out of the car park lot since the traffic by that time was densely heavy. Everyone seemed eager to get out of the rain. Some roads were beginning to flood, which made traffic even heavier. It was enlightening to see how the locals make their way home, some on a white horse, most on bikes, while others squeezed onto the public buses, climbing up the ladder at the back of the bus onto the top of the bus. It gives a totally different meaning to “getting on the bus” – literally!
BACK AT THE LOHARU HOUSE
I went back to my guest room at the Loharu House. The storm had damaged the garden outside my room as the pots had toppled over and smashed into pieces. The fans and lights in my room were also affected and so I called for help and within minutes, a man came over to fix it. I then asked for hot water, for which I made a cup of instant noodles. It was surely comforting on a cold night.
I took out the book I bought at Delhi - Being Indian, highly recommended by both Sarah and Jayant, and started reading it. I don't know how long before I dozed off but when I woke up it was late. I showered and headed to bed. It would be my last night I could turn in early and wake up relatively late.
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