Shopping in India

It took about an hour, but I finally had to admit defeat. On my first shopping expedition I tried to buy a simple, cotton punjabi to wear now that the temperatures are so warm. These are the lovely long tunic/pants/scarf combos that are alternatives to the sari. Saris aren't uncomfortable to wear, I just can't figure out how to tie them no matter how often they try to show me. So punjabis are practical and easy for me. The problems is nobody makes them big enough for me.

Shopkeepers are always male and they staff at a ratio of about 6:1. You can not imagine the level of personal attention you get, nor their persistence in trying to find something that you will like to buy. Customers are seated on a mattress on the floor and samples are brought out, unwrapped and displayed for your consideration. Only the size of their inventory will limit the number of items they will show you. Expect to see it all if you go shopping in India.

Sister Mary was assigned to take me into town for shopping late on afternoon. I assumed it would take an hour, tops, to buy one punjabi. Four hours of power shopping later, I made it back just in time for 8:00 dinner with the Bishop.

After an hour of attempting to try on ready-made punjabis that were too small to pull over my shoulders, I finally convinced everyone that the only alternative was to have one made. Since India is the home of some of the most beautiful material in the world, how hard could this be?

The first place we went, we agreed on a beautiful blue material but this turned out to be beginner's luck. They did not carry enough lining to accommodate my overly large size so the purchase was abandoned and the hunt continued. Sister Mary looked at every bolt of material in a 5 mile radius: the quality was wrong, it could only be dry-cleaned, the color didn't look good on me, it had too much beading, it was too heavy or too light-weight, and so on. We finally agreed on a blue fabric and measurements were debated until the final fire-fight over the price. Never try to out negotiate a nun. They never give up and they always win. Satisfied with the final price we went to find a tailor.

More measurements were taken, a neck line chosen from about 45 choices, and a deadline for delivery was negotiated. Since it was a rush job (don't ask me why) it would cost more. But no, Sr. Mary was having none of that and the terms were finally fixed. I thought we were done. Ha!

Apparently no Indian woman ever goes out in public without earrings and bangles and an ankle bracelet, and a necklace to match. I mean NEVER, unless you're a nun, of course. This is why women and girls are always attacking me when I show up in cotton pants and a linen shirt. Girls pull the earrings right off their ears and stick them through my ears. Seriously. (How do you handle accepting earrings from orphans?) Women have pulled half of their bangles off and jammed them on my wrist so that I could be properly dressed. The problem is that my hands are too large for the bangles. This requires crunching my hands in half until the bangle can be forced over the wrist bone all the while I am protesting their generosity. Wrist bones are not that forgiving. The glass bangles pop in half at the pressure and the metal ones resist with all their tensile strength. Still, these women persevere. Necklaces are ripped off of necks and tied onto mine. Fortunately (or unfortunately), ankle bracelets are permanently affixed on the leg so they can not be removed.

So Sr. Mary wasn't done shopping by a long shot. The ensemble had to be completed. We were on the hunt for the finest costume jewelry India had to offer. Boxes and Boxes and Boxes of jewelry were presented. Nobody does bling like India. No amount of protesting on my part was going to let me off the hook. I tried everything. No dice. Finally, I gave in and we bought some bangles in the precise shade of blue to match my outfit, with contrasting sequins and a necklace. I SWORE I had blue earrings back at the Bishop's House. The final stop was the jewelers for not one, but two ankle bracelets that now can only be removed with a blow torch. I sound like I have on spurs when I walk.

It seems that unless you have all the accoutrement's, you are stating publicly to all the world, that you are dirt poor. So poor, that your family can not even dress you in an ankle bracelet. This would be the equivalent of sending your kids to school in the US without shoes because you were just too poor to even afford a pair at the thrift store. Few can bear this level of shame and my friends here in India are not about to let the world think that I am this poor. Once they figured out that I wasn't a professed sister in some kind of odd habit, there was no turning back. From now on, I go out with at least my ankle bracelets on. For one thing, I can't get them off.