WINDOW(S) SHOPPING

I truly believe that love for shopping is an inherent feature of the XX chromosome. I do not know if some researchers have already drawn this inference and presented their papers in some illustrious American or Canadian University but it is a conclusion I have arrived at after completing nearly half a century on this planet.

My childhood was spent in a small railway colony called Chittaranjan where the only things that I remember seeing and buying were small aluminum boxes which we called “tin suitcases” in which all the kids in that colony carried their school books. After a couple of weeks in school these boxes acquired multiple dents from constant battering in our hands and we had to wait a year to be promoted to the next class when a new one would be purchased. Yes, there was also a Bata shop where you could get three types of school shoes – Naughty Boy shoes for boys, buckled shoes with little pinholes hear the toes for girls and, when you grew up a little, you graduated to the ‘ballerina’ shoes which were the ultimate in fashion. There was also the Durga Puja special shoes…brown strapped leather sandals for little boys and beige leather slippers for little girls which had three sad brown paisleys on each slipper with little raised rubber heels to give you the feel of  'high heeled’ shoes. I wonder who designed shoes for Bata in those days but it enjoyed complete monopoly despite being totally devoid of aesthetics. Our dresses and other accessories came from Calcutta during our biannual trips to the city. Baba’s tours to Calcutta or Delhi were our greatest attractions since they meant toys, dolls’ houses, tiny tea sets, miniature sofa sets for me while Dada got his cricket and football kits, TT and badminton racquets. The pretty jooties and silk kurtis with zari motifs came from Agra and Delhi along with my favourite  ‘pethas’ and ‘soan halwas’.

Next the scene shifted to another small industrial town called Durgapur – a little superior to Chittaranjan. Shopping meant going to Benachity Market which meant driving down in some uncle’s car. Those trips were associated with Cadbury  milk chocolates, coloured saunf which came out of a Joker’s mouth, jujubes which we called ‘sponge lozenges’, cigarette toffees which we ‘smoked’ with such poise, colourful plastic  water bottles , tiffin boxes and of course beautiful dolls. Once, in one of our Benachity sojourns, my dad bought me a pair of dolls- a boy and a girl. What beauties… the boy was a baldy with painted brown hair but the girl had such lovely golden hair which could be tied in plaits or pony-tails and the packet came with a feeding bottle for the boy doll and a hairbrush for the girl doll. But good things do not last forever…. that evening an old family friend visited us. They also had a daughter… I never liked her much...who, in all generosity, had got me a small mud jug which was painted black. I still have no clue to what purpose that tiny “surahi” would serve and why they had got it for me!  Anyway, my parents thought I should also give her  a return gift…. “Why don’t you give her one of your new dolls?” Yes, why not… are these guys morons? I got the boy doll minus the bottle. No, my father in all ‘fairness’ thought I was being selfish and so suggested that I should let her choose! And just what I had dreaded … I have still not been able to forgive my dad for this… this girl chose not only the girl doll but also the tiny green hairbrush!

My Baba’s next posting was Mumbai. Living in Cuffe Parade, my mom’s favourite haunt was Colaba Causeway and I, her ten year old accomplice. Very often, on my returning from school in the afternoon, the two of us would take the short cut via Badhwaar Park and Pasta Lane to Causeway. After our small town market places the Causeway was a dream come true, a gratification for all the senses. Never had I seen such “infinite variety”- such beautiful dresses, such a dazzling collection of sarees, lehengas, such colourful shoes, bags and other accessories, such a plethora of knick-knacks from costume jewellery to brass artefacts. Time would fly by just walking up and down the two sides of the road. We would be home before dad came back from office. Guests who came to Bombay would be happily accompanied by us to this magical place where not only were there offers of gastronomical treats like  Frankie, Chaat (in those days Kailash Parbat had not grown so big and neither had it spread its branches) kebabs, kulfis and faloodas but also Cambridge offered great casual shirts for Rs 100/- and Meena Bazaar  carried on a round-the-year sale of sarees  while Apsara could really transform you into one. Our guests went back happily loaded with Kolhapuri chappals, silver trinkets, Khatau voiles, Binny’s cotton and polyester sarees.

If Bombay had its Crawford Market, Calcutta could boast of its New Market. Our next port of call was Calcutta. I had already heard exotic tales of New Market, once upon a time called the Hogg Market, from my parents. New Market was another magic land where everything could be bought – from ‘bagher bachcha’ (tiger cubs) to porcelain dolls .Though by the time I saw New Market, the mythical tiger cubs or baby crocodiles had been banned, but it was definitely a place where you could find anything- from exotic pets, plants and petunias to the trendiest of clothes and accessories. One of my favourite haunts was a tiny bookshop, which I frequented with my friends, that had one of the most amazing collection of fiction. And of course there was Nahoum’s, one of the best and cheapest bakeries I have ever seen. The bespectacled grandfatherly uncles just sat there and talked among themselves. They never counted how many pastries you had eaten or even bothered if you paid or not. The day New Market was gutted I felt orphaned. I never could take to the ‘new’ New Market which rose from its ashes.

Then there was Gariahat and its neighbouring areas- Triangular Park, Hindustan Park, Dover Road. My dad once called it our ‘Tirth sthaan’. I still believe that it is the best place to buy sarees…. from Banarsis to Tangails, Dhakai jamdanis to Bomkais, from Dhanekhalis to Balucharis. And who can forget what the footpaths of Gariahat could offer – from terracotta murals to Shantiniketani bags, ‘big shopper bags’ to clothes clips, GKW safety pins to readymade blouses.

Shopping got even more elegant as the curtains were raised on the arcades of Connaught Place and the spotlight fell on Greenways, Kalpana, Snow White. India was rediscovered as we explored the emporiums of Baba Khadak Singh Marg.  We lost complete track of time and money as we gave ourselves up totally to the maze of Karol Bagh or wound our ways in the labyrinth of Lajpat Nagar. No city can beat Delhi as it unfolds its yards and yards of variety. Where else in this world is a Chandni Chowk whose every ‘gully’ is dedicated to a different item which could be anything from parathas to dupattas. Who can forget the annual pilgrimage to Mohini Knitwear sales and the mayhem at Pragati Maidan. Of course there was fun in the madness, there was life in the wilderness. Later, these gave way to more stylish and sedate settings of Dilli Haat with its mouthwatering momo.

Change they say is the only constant in life. Now we are living in the age of the ‘ multitudinous’ malls. A new mall crops up every other day. Monsoon Mania follows the Summer Sale, Diwali Bumper is followed by the Christmas Extravaganza. Life has become so much more convenient… no heat, no grime and no traffic to evade. You don’t have to look for a chai shop , your legs won’t ache from walking and no sweat will trickle down you back . But yes, you do miss the haggling and the hawkers’ cries, you do miss the triumph of turning back and buying your favourite kurta for the price you first quoted.

But soon the malls will take a backseat too. The amazing Amazon and the Flipkart’s carts have more fare to offer than all the Chandni Chowks and Shopper Stops put together. You just have to click on the mouse and your cart will be delivered to your house. You just have to sit back and enjoy as each window opens and shuts and opens again. The show just goes on.

But the fairer sex better beware- the XY chromosomes are fast catching up with us. With a click of the mouse these guys can do as much shopping and sometimes even seal better deals than us. So I say buck up!

DS