shopping mystique

lets say Fate brought me to its vicinity and bound me to it for good. i do not remember my reaction the first time I set foot in the famed ‘Chudidar lane’ at Pantheon Road. But maybe a hundred visits down the lane, my heart does not fail to skip a beat and goes thump thump in excitement. Clothes do that to any woman you would say; here it is magnified many times over.
But splashed in those rainbow textiles, some slung from the wall behind, some hung from trees by way of etalage, is that magic word ‘bargain’.
‘always ask for half the price of what the shopkeeper quotes’ was the helpful suggestion of the driver who took me there first. ‘tell a shopkeeper how unique his goods are’. These are two of the versatile economic theories that keep the Lane-and you- going even in these recession hit days. ‘tell a shopkeeper that it is always at his shop that you buy. That brings down prices’. The trouble of course is that all the shops, snuggling up to each other, are indistinguishable. Fire the ‘half-price’ salvo and wait for the shopkeeper’s reaction. He is on his guard too. Sometimes a compromise takes form, most often when I am on just a practice bargain run. Or, when walking with a black plastic bag with 5 metres of exclusive bargain, I see a better colour combo a few shops down the lane. Too late, alas, to change destiny. Tell a shopkeeper that three shops back the same material was offered for a much lesser price and he says ‘this quality is superior’.
With experience I have evolved my own expertise at shopping gainfully-or at least believing to –at chudidar lane. Take a first ‘scout only’ tour of the lane, gleaning the goodies in each shop, trying to make mental notes of what’s exclusive, where. Nod summarily to inviting shopkeepers, so that you are not dismissed as a time waster. Occasionally ask for the price of an interesting looking material, with sufficient detachment. And to keep the shopkeeper in suspense, just gesture saying you’ll be back after your tour. It sort of keeps him on tenterhooks for a fleeting moment, as he tries to broker a bargain then and there. Act bold, look into the horizon of the lane, and even as his entreaties gain in momentum, just walk away. You always have the hordes of fellow-bargain seekers to fill the commercial void you created at this shop. Even as I carry out my survey, I also try to remember what my artistic ambitions were when I came here. Seeing so many different bewitching materials, often unimagined, can upset the set plan and budget.
It is almost a relief when the last shop is reached. It is usually the dullest, tucked away from the limelight. So I trace my steps backwards, surer of my intentions now. The shopkeepers however seem to remember my face better than I theirs; though they are mostly polite and unassuming, I need to be careful not to ruffle them the wrong way-and spoil the thrill of my outing here.
I emerge fulfilled a half hour later, shopping concluded, at the first shop of the lane. Three non-descript plastic bags full. My feelings are as mixed up as the mix-n-match colours I have just hoarded up. There is joy and a sense of loss. I then realise that it is not really about bargain at all. While the lane is more famously known as ‘chudidar lane’ for the exquisite set materials, I see sheer potential. The kaalamkari curtains which sway to the rhythm of the breeze in my apartment, are from chudidar lane. The other day I saw a girl wearing a top in the same material. The half meter of extra material the shopkeeper so generously gave away for free, is waiting to be made into a bag. This is where I get my imagination fired: a patchwork bedspread of contrasting colours, a table cloth with the left over material, curdoroy shorts for the daughter, why not home-grown velvet drapes for a change? aprons, cushion covers …the possibilities seem overwhelming.
The sense of loss I feel is not over the lighter wallet but over my own limitations to do full justice to the potential of chudidar lane.