The Bridesmaid’s Day Out!

I have a self – diagnosed shopping phobia. It is a very rare phenomenon in the fair sex. The symptoms aren’t too severe but guarantee many raised eyebrows and expressions of disbelief in whomsoever you confide your disorder. I’ll simplify my convoluted ranting for you. I am a lazy bum. I prefer spending my weekends sleeping or reading. Either way, don’t expect a happy expression if you try and make me leave my bed on a holiday. So of course, it was with ill – disguised irritation that I finally agreed to go shopping. I would have made another excuse but my Ma’s murderous glare made my decision for me. Besides, the shopping trip would have been slightly difficult without me. It was, after all, my dress that we were supposed to buy. The dress I would be wearing on my sister’s wedding. It wasn’t some posh mall or chick market that my mother had zeroed in on. It was Delhi’s biggest sari bazaar. It was, to my horror, Chandi Chowk. Foreign tourists and book writers like William Dalrymple have glorified Old Delhi as an aesthetic place and the real Delhi. But it is purgatory for luxury lovers like me. Its treacherous little gullies demand full attention lest you stumble and fall on cow shit. The stench from the public urinal (for men of course) follows you around till you are forced into breathing from your mouth. The traffic on the main road is forced into a crawl because there are too many people treating the main road as their own private garden. And even when you are inside the maze like streets of the main bazaar, you’ll never be alone because you would always be flanked by at least two stray dogs, more if you have some eatables in your hand bag. The streets wouldn’t have been so narrow originally. But there are roadside stalls on every available inch of the sidewalk and vendors display their wares on both edges of the road. There must be thousands of eateries in the narrow gullies of Chandni Chowk. Each thronged by scores of people relishing the un - hygienically delicious kachori, chana kulcha, chaat, chhole bhature and pakore. And there is the occasional daring rider on a scooter or a motorbike who would rush past you showing off his riding skills by tousling your hair, pinching your bottom or simply honking tirelessly as he rides away to glory. You can’t see the sun because the view is blocked by the old canted havelis and the tangle of electrical wires.

All this, along with the long tiresome walk to the very interior of the bazaar was a huge put off and I realized I had been frowning since I got off at the metro station. The first showroom was a complete waste of time and effort. There was a 15 minute waiting outside the shop. I had never had to wait to enter a shop before! The sales boys were rude, lecherous (which man isn’t in Delhi?) and arrogant. The clothes were too jazzy for my taste and the men too difficult to tolerate. The next shop was a riot of colours and noises. When we found a corner to sit (after waiting outside for 5 minutes), we waited (yet again) for some sales boy to notice our frantic waves and yells. Finally, someone obliged. Now starts the fun part! My Ma, sister and aunt had graciously accompanied me and were now ordering the salesman to show this sari or that lehenga. For most part of the evening, I was a passive observer. The variety was confusing. I couldn’t even find faults with the pieces the other three women unanimously shirked away after just one glance. After we (actually they) had finally zeroed in on 5 pieced, I was asked to try them on. So I stood to my full 5 feet 2 and a ½ inches height on a wooden plank while two salesmen busied themselves draping the shiny fabric on me. I have to admit, I looked good in every single one of them. I noticed various mothers nudging their soon to be married daughters and jealously pointing at me. Though I knew very well that the sales man’s praises were hollow flattery used lavishly on every customer to sell their wares, I was blushing as I twirled in the pink and green and yellow lehengas. When I thought we had finally chosen one, my aunt made a face and told the salesman that we weren’t satisfied and would like to look around before we finalized on something. I stared at my aunt with my mouth agape and longing in my eyes. I was tired (and I really liked the yellow lehenga). But my aunt was firm and led the way out of the crowded shop.

 It was beginning to get dark now. We had spent about an hour and a half in the second shop and now were heading toward the third one. I was about to complain about the stuffy place when I realized that the other three ladies were going through this ordeal for me. So I zipped my lips and trudged on behind them. The third shop was located near the famous paranthe wali gully. The delicious fragrance of the frying paranthas and pakoras and chaat made my mouth water and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. 

But the ladies were on a mission to find me a dress that very day. So in the next shop my expressions were obviously disgruntled. I did not even bother to take off my shoes (like I had in the previous two shops) to sit down as I was certain that my entourage would not be satisfied so easily. So I stood next to the door as the other three settled down to have a dekko of a hundred more dresses. But then I got enchanted by the pretty fabrics and designs. It might have been the salesman also who was very charming and had a penchant for selling. Then catching our pulse, he showed us a piece which immediately caught our attention and my fancy. It was beautiful and just perfect. No, it was not the colour I had in mind. Instead, it was of the combination I had sworn against. But when I wore it, I knew this was the one. The salesman was a clever fellow. The piece was way above the price range we had indicated. So after heavy bargaining which went on for ½ an hour, we submitted the advance. After a hurried dinner of dahi bhalla and tikki, we were on our way back.

(Note: My aunt was still unsatisfied. In her opinion, we should have been to more shops before settling on something!)

It was a tiresome day. But I would be lying if I said I did not like my image in the mirror, draped in the soft fabric studded with stones and beautified with threadwork. I felt beautiful and very feminine. Shopping for oneself isn’t so bad I guess. Next weekend, I would be shopping for the dress I would be wearing on my sister’s engagement! :P