Afternoon Shopping

I decide to leave the sluggish and moderately cool A/C of the hotel to go on a mission for Mr. Chirpspousie to Nilgiri’s – a store where they have many things of American and English origin that we visitors feel we can’t live without – like diet coke. Mr. C. wants more Splenda in the handy little tiny tablet form which they’ve only just started carrying in the USA. I walk out the front door (always held open by a courteous doorman with a friendly head-woggle* – whose shift out there is 3 HOURS of standing in the heat OUTSIDE the door at a time), down the steps and take a minute to adjust to the winter swelter. It’s afternoon – the best time to go out (I think) is 3:30 p.m. or later – so ‘snot so bad. I figure I’ll walk to the corner and flag an auto rickshaw. Instead, like a giant gnat, one sails in for a landing inches from my right side and the driver says “Going Madam?” I say Nilgiri’s - he says sure (or the equivalent) – I say how much? – he says 30 rupees (only about 5 rupees more than a local would pay, which is not worth haggling over) so I hop in. Neither of us consider the idea of using the meter that every auto comes with. He can’t idle too long because it’s basically a lawn-mower engine - so he shuts off long enough for me to get in - then yanks up the handle from the floor to start it and we’re off!

When I left India last time I swore I’d never get in another auto without a horn. Since there are only maybe 4 stoplights in a town of almost 900,000 - few stop signs, and everything else is open to interpretation – if you don’t have a horn, you’re flying blind. A hornless rickshaw driver will not change his way of driving to be more careful because he’s temporarily hornless, so no one hears him speaking in horn that he’s/passing/about to hit them/in danger of mowing them down/etc. Without the horn, my guess is that your chances of living to ride again are reduced exponentially. But, I’m just not as vigilant about it now. I get in, assume no one will be killed in this process and space out on other things. Often I hop out, realize we were traveling hornless and give a small lecture on GET A HORN for gosh’s sakes. They smile and buzz off. I'm thinking I might work up to taking a cycle rickshaw, but, they look....well, rickety!

I pass a younger street doggie as I go into the shop. We make eye contact and I chat. You know that Far Side cartoon? “Blah blah blah doggie blah blah blah blah blah doggie.” That was me. The little guy wags his tail hopefully and I gnash my teeth – having forgotten my street dog biskies. ‘Course various street dogs have already turned up their snoots at them, not knowing what the HECK this hard crunchy thing IS! They take them verrrrry gently from you (Trixie – are you listening? They LEAVE the fingers!), tongue them around a bit, drop them on the ground, wander away a bit, wander back, give it another go while eyeing me with some cynicism. The night I first brought a box of dog biscuits home from the store, I was just passing the barrier to my hotel’s street (remember that they put them up at night so people can walk the Promenade and that I am Queen of the run-on sentence) when I spied my first victim! I made kissy noises and he trotted over. One of the hotel door-opener staff had spied me and ran over to see if I needed help carrying my grocery bags. The barriers are manned by police at night and there was an officer standing next to me there too, wearing his tall red Kepi hat. By now I have the dog’s attention and I’m digging in my bags for the biscuits. I keep doggie patter going so he won’t lose interest and the policeman and hotel staff person are all for the dog getting his treat, so there we are – three of us talking to the dog and all rooting through my bags together to find the dadratted box of biscuits. That’s when I had my first rejection. Dog thought it over, ptooied it out – we all egged him on and tapped the street next to the biscuit with our feet – hotel person even picked it up and tried to get him to take it again – no cigar. He paused to bark off an incomer farther down the street, gave it one last sniff and abandoned it. I was crushed. The guys consoled me, saying “They are not liking this vegetarian food Ma’am!” I told them it had chicken meal and other good stuff in it but obviously it wasn’t enough. Since then, I have had happier biskie acceptance experiences and even been followed a block or so.

So back to Nilgiri’s. I go inside and proceed to the Splenda and other fakey sweeteners aisle because I was promised they would be in on Tuesday. It’s Tuesday evening and everyone is busily stocking shelves. No new Splenda tablets. I ask a clerk nearby if they’ve come in and she tells me they do not stock that product. This is a variant on “We’ve never carried THAAAAT”…..”I’ve NEVER seen that in THIS store”….”Worked here since the store opened and I KNOW we’ve never carried that” theme that drives me nuts everywhere I go – no matter what country or nationality, no matter that I tell them that “I bought it here last time!” (you fool). But, I sort of expected it this time. My experience here in India especially is to keep asking the same question over and over of different people and filter through the answers until you find out what you need to know – eliminating the impossible, the implausible, the occasionally rude, and the ever-anxious-to-please but downright wrong.

I decide to walk up the street to buy some thread and luckily I know where the shop is from past research. Travel always involves a lot of mending for me. Things get semi-destroyed by laundry services, things were on their last legs before you left home but you didn’t notice, things are long-sleeved and you’re only willing to wear short-sleeved (my most common sewing job). I was darning a tube sock for Mr. Chirppickie just the other day. He was distraught that one of his grey store-bought and fairly cheap socks had a hole in the machine-sewn hem over the toe (slight sneer, just slight). I darned it up for him but couldn’t resist pointing out the four pairs of handmade socks languishing in a drawer at home that were tailored exactly to his measurements and fit requirements. Has he worn them? Did he bring them? One pair worn three times – that’s it. He launches into a spirited monologue about how “special” these socks are because they fit him just the way he likes and they are SO hard to find but really really he so appreciates the socks I make him too but they’re not with him and thanks so much for darning, blah blah blah, smooth over, blah blah, verbal pat, blah blah blah.

I reach the store that sells thread and manage to find BOTH colors I need. This is a good start. I ask if they have knitting yarn – they tell me to go upstairs. I ask 4-5 different people who ask 4-5 different co-workers what the heck I’m asking for. I pantomime and they bring out knitting needles. Looks like India carries circular needles now through the local “Pony” brand. Cool! But I need to see yarn, not needles. I mime knitting and they bring out crochet hooks. I try all the words I can think of but most of all repeat “wool” as this is what I’ve been told to ask for. I try knitting thread – I’m shown thread. I go back to knitting “wool.” No cigar. Finally I talk about jumpers, sweaters, and a thicker thread for knitting - a light bulb goes on! I’m shown to a tier of shelves of colored acrylic in screaming shades and (new since last time) some trendy eyelash yarns. I’m so happy – I ask “so what do YOU call this?” “Wool, Madam…”

I return to the delicious blessed icy coolness of the hotel that seemed steamy only hours before when I left.

Look! I managed to capture the elusive Clangy-Dang man!

*If I haven't explained the Indian head woggle, let me give it a try. It's done by tilting your head toward first one shoulder and then the other in a continuous motion. It indicates various things. It can mean "Yes, I understand and I'm listening with my entire heart and soul" (this can be emphasized by holding a hand over your heart while woggling to show a deep DEEP level of listening and comprehension). It can also mean, "Yeah, hurry up and finish, I hear you and know what you're gonna say already," or "Kiss off! I know that already," or "You can keep talking all you want but when you're done I'm going to go and do exactly what I want anyway," or simply "That's enough thanks, I'm full." I don't speak this the way I speak HORN, but I'm learning.