A trip to India wouldn’t really be complete without shopping, at
least that is what I was led to expect. When we met up with the local
people, they discouraged us from going to the old market near the Red
Fort, probably the most famous market in Delhi, the Chandni Chowk
market, dating back to the 1600s, because of the crowds, high crime rate
and the fact that we’d just be overwhelmed. If local people tell you
that you will be overwhelmed when the things they take for granted
overwhelm you, my advice is to listen to them.
They encouraged us instead to go to Delhi Heart (we thought) because it was a market representative of the 29 states of India and that vendors rotated bi weekly and therefore were encouraged to bargain reasonably. So we told the hotel driver, who we engaged for the day because we really wanted someone who could speak English, to take us to the market and to the Akshardham temple, the newest Hindu temple in Delhi.
This driver was very proud of Delhi, and while his English was better than the company driver’s he still had some issues. Some of his insights: Too much money in the temples. Too much smart in the Jain religion. And my favorite: Too much Mother Theresa.
First we went to the temple, and here we were required to leave leather bags in the car, and take off shoes. It was warm that day, so not an issue and we’d been prepared for both so weren’t surprised. We were a little surprised that there was no fee to enter the temple grounds, and we were very impressed with the gardens, architecture and traditional art. No pictures were allowed inside I’m afraid, but here are links to the web where you can get a better idea:
Temple (elaborate… note all the hand carving!)
Lotus garden (this was very pretty)
There was yet another separate line for women; while cell phones and cameras are not permitted inside, and security is tight. I had an odd moment when they patted me down and discovered my little fitbit (pedometer.) They wanted me to “open it”… which of course made no sense as it is simply a clip that slides over a pocket or waistband or belt. I finally convinced them that there was no danger from it… demonstrating the steps and walking…while my husband and the driver laughed from their “men’s line.” My husband told me I’d learn to use it as a money clip sooner or later… he had the same device and didn’t raise an eyebrow!
Our judgmental driver considered this to be an excess of the "jannis" (Jain) particularly (we’d told him our son in law’s family was Jain)... too much money. We spent a couple of hours at the temple, and then asked the driver to take us to Delhi Heart.
He asked “Which one?” and we explained what our friends had said. (They said it as though everyone knows about Delhi Heart!) He explained to us that since the new light rail line was being built, Delhi Heart was sliced in two, so he’d take us to the one he knew best.
He drove us to an area with signs that said “Delhi Haat” and were a line of very old, very dirty shops selling traditionally touristic goods: saris, pashminas, carpets, marble carvings… and while the place technically met the description of what I’d read in the guide books, the fact that there were only about 5 shops in the area made me suspicious. Nonetheless, we went inside, and let them show us all grades of pashminas and then they took us to the carpet room.
Now, I love a bargain, and the Indian government subsidizes these cottage industry stores, so they a) take credit cards, b) charge no tax, and c) ship to the U.S (or other countries) for free. So … always needing new carpets (remember I have puppies)(okay, they are a year old now, dogs) we let them bring us bottled water and show us their carpets.
Even cheap rugs are not cheap, these running in the thousands of dollars, depending on size. But the salesman, though very interesting to listen to, fell into what I know now as an Indian salesman’s habit: he kept showing us more. If he’d have just stopped, I think we’d have bought something, for the entertainment value at least. But …when the overwhelming flags started going up, we told him we had three more days in India, and we might be back. And walked away. What we knew was that we didn’t know enough about what we were dealing on to make good choices. When we got back to the hotel, we went and talked to the dealer in the hotel, who showed us what to watch for and what indicated fraud… and sure enough, I’m certain we were being shown machine made goods, in synthetics. It was a fun experience though…and we didn’t spend anything on it.
Thursday, we got up early and met the hotel driver. Once again, we asked to go to Delhi Heart… or Haat as it said on the map. He took us to yet another slummy commercial district. This time we were better prepared, and after a quick perusal of the goods, and asked to go to the place on the map. The driver wasn’t pleased, but we’d been in Delhi long enough to know some of the landmarks, and were quite sure we weren’t close to the place indicated on the map. We think the drivers and the shop owners have … arrangements… bring the tourists to me and I’ll give you a percentage kind of thing.
We finally made it to Delhi Haat, which was much more tourist friendly. The place is like a craft market where the merchants from the different Indian states rotate on 15 day schedules and sell their wares. They do the famous bargaining, but my little bit of experience says that they didn’t really have Indian prices to begin with. We had some rupees though, and they took credit cards as well, so we bought several 100% pashmina scarves and some other trinkets… happy elephants from a puppet maker and some vegetable on hand-made paper paintings. It was clean, the merchants were nice, and we had fun.
What we have not seen that we were warned to expect were the hoards of child beggars. A few, when stopped in traffic, noting that we are in a rental car, and a Chevrolet at that. Kind of like wearing white tennis shoes in Europe… just marks you as American. The children motioned hunger, but they also laughed and the dancing that they did against the car made their gestures seem insincere. They just looked like kids. One thing that did strike me was that two of the little girls, who could not have been more than 8, carried babies. One was a toddler, all toothy grins, the other a bald headed infant lolling in the girls arms. It reminded me of the gimmick in Slumdog Millionaire. And I have to say that slumdog prepared us for most of the images of India, which gives the producers high marks for realism from me.
Let’s talk a little about women while I am typing here, waiting the 8 minutes to fully charge my laptop before we go. First: I expected to see more women in the craft shops, the hotels etc. Unless they were in the plentiful Ayurveda salons, they are few and far between. In the craft shops and bazaars, even more so. And when we are out in public, I’m barely granted courtesy, never deference, in this country where men rule. No wonder the women are rising up and being pissed off. I saw dozens of women on the streets and in traffic, often dolled up in the colorful saris but never in the position of prominence. Lots of women ride the backs of motorcycles, and hold children, but I have not yet seen a woman drive. The local newspaper this morning recognizes the new voting block in India as the female vote, and the news is full of the demand for better protection under the law, especially for rape victims. Something to research.
We are on the plane to London now, ready to land soon, and so it is time to close out this narrative. I want to remember the look of India falling away as the plane rose, a million postage stamp parcels in shades of green and brown, and tiny brown villages connected by almost roads scattered like seeds among the plains. Then the jagged jolt of the Himalayas, darker brown, and empty, with the few settlements squares that look more like the remnants of pallets strewn about the land, and dusted with snow. Then the snow caps themselves, so cold and empty and extreme. They seem to separate the possibility that is India from the rest of the world, and I choose to think that rather than isolate the subcontinent, the mountains protect it, saving all those happy, contented people from the anger that seems to be Pakistan, the arrogance of Arabia, and the desperation that I think of when I think of Russia. I want to save them it seems, not from the poverty and stress that comes from being an underdeveloped third world, or emerging world, but from the silly stresses that come from westernization. The need to fit in, to wear the right thing, say the right thing. I want them to keep their pride in their heritage, their culture, their food, so that they can always share that lively wonder with sojourners like me. While I want to bestow on them self respect, I don’t want to take away their humbling humility.
I wonder how my market experience jives with that sentiment, and can hear the smiling handsome men beckon to me, “just take a look” “just one moment” and then not know when to stop to give me time to actually buy something. I want to help, but I want to help in ways that let them earn their profits, not by handing out rupees and money, but encouraging their free enterprise, their joyful spirit, their undying energy. I feel as though I have just “taken a look” and have been sucked in by the entreaty. I want to see more.
They encouraged us instead to go to Delhi Heart (we thought) because it was a market representative of the 29 states of India and that vendors rotated bi weekly and therefore were encouraged to bargain reasonably. So we told the hotel driver, who we engaged for the day because we really wanted someone who could speak English, to take us to the market and to the Akshardham temple, the newest Hindu temple in Delhi.
This driver was very proud of Delhi, and while his English was better than the company driver’s he still had some issues. Some of his insights: Too much money in the temples. Too much smart in the Jain religion. And my favorite: Too much Mother Theresa.
First we went to the temple, and here we were required to leave leather bags in the car, and take off shoes. It was warm that day, so not an issue and we’d been prepared for both so weren’t surprised. We were a little surprised that there was no fee to enter the temple grounds, and we were very impressed with the gardens, architecture and traditional art. No pictures were allowed inside I’m afraid, but here are links to the web where you can get a better idea:
Temple (elaborate… note all the hand carving!)
Lotus garden (this was very pretty)
There was yet another separate line for women; while cell phones and cameras are not permitted inside, and security is tight. I had an odd moment when they patted me down and discovered my little fitbit (pedometer.) They wanted me to “open it”… which of course made no sense as it is simply a clip that slides over a pocket or waistband or belt. I finally convinced them that there was no danger from it… demonstrating the steps and walking…while my husband and the driver laughed from their “men’s line.” My husband told me I’d learn to use it as a money clip sooner or later… he had the same device and didn’t raise an eyebrow!
Our judgmental driver considered this to be an excess of the "jannis" (Jain) particularly (we’d told him our son in law’s family was Jain)... too much money. We spent a couple of hours at the temple, and then asked the driver to take us to Delhi Heart.
He asked “Which one?” and we explained what our friends had said. (They said it as though everyone knows about Delhi Heart!) He explained to us that since the new light rail line was being built, Delhi Heart was sliced in two, so he’d take us to the one he knew best.
He drove us to an area with signs that said “Delhi Haat” and were a line of very old, very dirty shops selling traditionally touristic goods: saris, pashminas, carpets, marble carvings… and while the place technically met the description of what I’d read in the guide books, the fact that there were only about 5 shops in the area made me suspicious. Nonetheless, we went inside, and let them show us all grades of pashminas and then they took us to the carpet room.
Now, I love a bargain, and the Indian government subsidizes these cottage industry stores, so they a) take credit cards, b) charge no tax, and c) ship to the U.S (or other countries) for free. So … always needing new carpets (remember I have puppies)(okay, they are a year old now, dogs) we let them bring us bottled water and show us their carpets.
Even cheap rugs are not cheap, these running in the thousands of dollars, depending on size. But the salesman, though very interesting to listen to, fell into what I know now as an Indian salesman’s habit: he kept showing us more. If he’d have just stopped, I think we’d have bought something, for the entertainment value at least. But …when the overwhelming flags started going up, we told him we had three more days in India, and we might be back. And walked away. What we knew was that we didn’t know enough about what we were dealing on to make good choices. When we got back to the hotel, we went and talked to the dealer in the hotel, who showed us what to watch for and what indicated fraud… and sure enough, I’m certain we were being shown machine made goods, in synthetics. It was a fun experience though…and we didn’t spend anything on it.
At the rug vendor.
But we still hadn’t seen what had been described to us as Delhi Heart. So we went to the hotel travel desk and asked for directions. The Concierge showed us the site on the map, and we engaged yet another driver for the following day.
I’ve not mentioned food or drink. Mostly when we were out and about we avoided it… took water with us, and stuck to eating breakfast and dinner in the hotel, which featured a very international buffet for both meals. I grew very fond of the Indian dishes, but my husband was less enamored, so this was a good choice for us. And since our room came with “happy hour” for two hours every night, it was economical too. Happy hour in India (Delhi at least) begins at 7 pm… they eat very late there. So by 7 we tried to be at the bar, where they served us our drinks of choice and different chef specialties as “snacks”… a couple of nights this was enough for dinner. The options there are not “western” and “non western” … but always veg and not veg. At any rate, I enjoyed the Indian sparkling wine, and Sapphire Bombay Gin kept my spouse happy. And yes, made it easier to go with the flow, if you will.
But we still hadn’t seen what had been described to us as Delhi Heart. So we went to the hotel travel desk and asked for directions. The Concierge showed us the site on the map, and we engaged yet another driver for the following day.
I’ve not mentioned food or drink. Mostly when we were out and about we avoided it… took water with us, and stuck to eating breakfast and dinner in the hotel, which featured a very international buffet for both meals. I grew very fond of the Indian dishes, but my husband was less enamored, so this was a good choice for us. And since our room came with “happy hour” for two hours every night, it was economical too. Happy hour in India (Delhi at least) begins at 7 pm… they eat very late there. So by 7 we tried to be at the bar, where they served us our drinks of choice and different chef specialties as “snacks”… a couple of nights this was enough for dinner. The options there are not “western” and “non western” … but always veg and not veg. At any rate, I enjoyed the Indian sparkling wine, and Sapphire Bombay Gin kept my spouse happy. And yes, made it easier to go with the flow, if you will.
Bar in the hotel, felt very British
Thursday, we got up early and met the hotel driver. Once again, we asked to go to Delhi Heart… or Haat as it said on the map. He took us to yet another slummy commercial district. This time we were better prepared, and after a quick perusal of the goods, and asked to go to the place on the map. The driver wasn’t pleased, but we’d been in Delhi long enough to know some of the landmarks, and were quite sure we weren’t close to the place indicated on the map. We think the drivers and the shop owners have … arrangements… bring the tourists to me and I’ll give you a percentage kind of thing.
We finally made it to Delhi Haat, which was much more tourist friendly. The place is like a craft market where the merchants from the different Indian states rotate on 15 day schedules and sell their wares. They do the famous bargaining, but my little bit of experience says that they didn’t really have Indian prices to begin with. We had some rupees though, and they took credit cards as well, so we bought several 100% pashmina scarves and some other trinkets… happy elephants from a puppet maker and some vegetable on hand-made paper paintings. It was clean, the merchants were nice, and we had fun.
What we have not seen that we were warned to expect were the hoards of child beggars. A few, when stopped in traffic, noting that we are in a rental car, and a Chevrolet at that. Kind of like wearing white tennis shoes in Europe… just marks you as American. The children motioned hunger, but they also laughed and the dancing that they did against the car made their gestures seem insincere. They just looked like kids. One thing that did strike me was that two of the little girls, who could not have been more than 8, carried babies. One was a toddler, all toothy grins, the other a bald headed infant lolling in the girls arms. It reminded me of the gimmick in Slumdog Millionaire. And I have to say that slumdog prepared us for most of the images of India, which gives the producers high marks for realism from me.
Let’s talk a little about women while I am typing here, waiting the 8 minutes to fully charge my laptop before we go. First: I expected to see more women in the craft shops, the hotels etc. Unless they were in the plentiful Ayurveda salons, they are few and far between. In the craft shops and bazaars, even more so. And when we are out in public, I’m barely granted courtesy, never deference, in this country where men rule. No wonder the women are rising up and being pissed off. I saw dozens of women on the streets and in traffic, often dolled up in the colorful saris but never in the position of prominence. Lots of women ride the backs of motorcycles, and hold children, but I have not yet seen a woman drive. The local newspaper this morning recognizes the new voting block in India as the female vote, and the news is full of the demand for better protection under the law, especially for rape victims. Something to research.
We are on the plane to London now, ready to land soon, and so it is time to close out this narrative. I want to remember the look of India falling away as the plane rose, a million postage stamp parcels in shades of green and brown, and tiny brown villages connected by almost roads scattered like seeds among the plains. Then the jagged jolt of the Himalayas, darker brown, and empty, with the few settlements squares that look more like the remnants of pallets strewn about the land, and dusted with snow. Then the snow caps themselves, so cold and empty and extreme. They seem to separate the possibility that is India from the rest of the world, and I choose to think that rather than isolate the subcontinent, the mountains protect it, saving all those happy, contented people from the anger that seems to be Pakistan, the arrogance of Arabia, and the desperation that I think of when I think of Russia. I want to save them it seems, not from the poverty and stress that comes from being an underdeveloped third world, or emerging world, but from the silly stresses that come from westernization. The need to fit in, to wear the right thing, say the right thing. I want them to keep their pride in their heritage, their culture, their food, so that they can always share that lively wonder with sojourners like me. While I want to bestow on them self respect, I don’t want to take away their humbling humility.
I wonder how my market experience jives with that sentiment, and can hear the smiling handsome men beckon to me, “just take a look” “just one moment” and then not know when to stop to give me time to actually buy something. I want to help, but I want to help in ways that let them earn their profits, not by handing out rupees and money, but encouraging their free enterprise, their joyful spirit, their undying energy. I feel as though I have just “taken a look” and have been sucked in by the entreaty. I want to see more.
Happy elephants, for luck, from the heart of Delhi.
end of India journal. at last!
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