Retail Ramblings in Mumbai
Before setting off for India, multiple people told me to prepare for great shopping. I’m not gonna lie, I love to shop, especially in small boutiques where I look for unique clothing made by local designers. I’ve had to purchase cheap luggage on more than one occasion in countries around the world to accommodate my purchases. To avoid another such situation in India, I pulled out my larger suitcase, even though I hate checking in luggage, and packed it only half full.
Our first order of business was to procure Indian-style gowns because the bride had invited everyone to don traditional attire to kick off the three days of wedding festivities later in the week. A few people in the party had procured their outfits back home. I was keen for the “authentic” experience of purchasing my attire in India. I specifically wanted a lehenga, which is a three-piece set consisting of the actual lehenga, a long ankle-length skirt, a well-fitted blouse top known as the choli, and a scarf to drape around the outfit, known as the dupatta. Lehengas come in many styles, but they are typically colorful, vibrant, and ornate.
A prominent shop across the street from our hotel advertised a vast collection of fancy wedding attire so we decided to see what we could find there. I’d been warned that crossing India’s bustling streets was like crossing a street in Vietnam. You walk slowly at a consistent speed, make no sudden movements, stare straight ahead, and trust that the traffic will flow around you. I didn’t trust this methodology in Mumbai. In Vietnam, most people ride scooters and bicycles and few cars ply the roadways. At least that was the case the last time I visited in 2007. In India, many more cars fill the roads and the buses appeared to accelerate at the sight of a pedestrian who hesitated. We successfully traversed the street by following a local who offered to guide us.
A guy standing outside the upscale store told us that he could take us to another store he knew that had good prices. I hesitated because I didn’t want to get into a situation, like I’ve been in so many times before, where we’d be pressured to make unwanted purchases. It was my first day in India and I hadn’t figured out how this stuff worked here yet. Holly convinced me to go, though, and I figured we’d at least have some kind of experience. The guy was more like a taxi dispatcher who put us in a cab with someone else, gave him instructions, and negotiated a fare of about four dollars that included taking us to the shop, waiting while we shopped, and then returning us back to the hotel.
Mumbai traffic is horrendous because only two main roads traverse the narrow peninsula that juts into the Arabian Sea. Construction of a new coastal highway and a new subway system snarls it up even more. Drivers largely disregard the faded lane lines on the roads. All manner of vehicles weave back and forth within inches of each other, making three lanes out of two and honking constantly to let people around them know they’re there.
Pedestrians walk along the roadside with the traffic, as well. Nobody walks on the narrow sidewalks, which are often disrupted by disrepair or other obstacles and don’t usually provide a continuous path. Scooters almost always carry at least one passenger on the back. Sometimes women perch sideways on the rear, or a two-foot high stack of eggs in cardboard cartons might be strapped on the back. Hardly anyone wears a helmet. It is not uncommon for scooters to drive against the traffic.
After half an hour of driving, the driver placed a phone call and yelled for a few minutes at someone. He didn’t speak English so he couldn’t answer our questions wondering where we were headed or if we were lost. I started tracking our movement on Google Maps and started to feel a little concerned as the blue dot moved further and further away from the city center. I was relieved when he made a U-turn.
At a stop light, a young man approached our window to beg. We’d been advised to ignore beggars, which proved more difficult when he reached inside the cab. Alarmed that we couldn’t roll up the window in the old car, I motioned for the driver to pull up. People in nearby cars shouted at the young man, maybe telling him to leave us alone? I’d been warned to brace myself for hordes of beggars surrounding me on the street, which never happened. I encountered fewer instances of begging in Mumbai than on an average day outside my building on 14th street in DC.
Eventually we ended up at a modest dress shop on a busy street near a metro station. Dozens of men wearing the same lavender, collared shirt milled about the store and stood behind glass counters filled with wares. One man led us up a narrow staircase to a room lined with shelves stacked with clear plastic bags containing colorful clothes. They pulled out many lehengas for my consideration. After I chose one, another man was called to take my measurements so that the garments could be altered to fit me perfectly. They promised the ensemble would be delivered to my hotel in two days.
Instead of going back to the hotel right away, we strolled down the block to check out other shops and came upon a street vendor selling simple cotton dresses for about three dollars each. The dresses were piled on tarps atop large cardboard boxes. We joined the swarm of women sifting through the dresses and sizing them up against each other’s shoulders. One woman grabbed a pink dress I had been eyeing and when I looked sorta sad, she handed it to me. While we were making our final selections, the guys started quickly packing up their goods and yelling. People who’d been sauntering down the street swiftly cleared the area. The reason became clearer when I spotted two police officers advancing down the street, whistles blaring. In a flash, the clothes vanished and our transactions were hastily completed, like a covert drug deal.
In a neighborhood called Kala Ghoda, which felt a little like walking around Brooklyn, we made a significant contribution to the Indian economy. This neighborhood was filled with the kind of local designer boutiques I was looking for. Prices were a little higher than the street vendor guys, but I doubt anyone back home will be wearing anything resembling these beautiful dresses.
My friend Jim had requested pocket squares made from saree material at a specific store. I’d forgotten until the final day. With time running short before all the stores closed, we looked for them in several small saree shops nearby Kala Ghoda. After some unsuccessful pantomiming, Holly found a picture of a pocket square on her phone to show what we wanted, but to no avail. We decided to make the trek to the store Jim mentioned. The taxi dropped us off at the address where GoogleMaps had directed us, but the store was nowhere to be found. No one in the nearby shops had heard of the store name that Jim had told me.
GoogleMaps listed another store sharing the same name about 15 minutes walk away. Up until this point, we hadn’t had much opportunity to explore Mumbai on foot beyond the touristy areas. We walked in the street along with everyone else, dodging traffic and jumping on the sidewalk whenever possible. Along the way, we spotted a cow standing nonchalantly in the road, the first one I’d seen during my entire stay in Mumbai. I thought they’d be everywhere.
When we arrived at the address, it did not resemble a saree store in the slightest. We entered through the gate anyway and discovered a small, white Jain temple. Rhythmic chanting and the sweet scent of incense permeated the air. Dozens of women wearing colorful sarees sat on the steps and watched us pass by. We ventured past the stalls selling religious artifacts that surrounded the temple and into a labyrinth of more stalls selling sarees and an array of religious paraphernalia. One stall offered squares of fabric that were too big to be pocket squares. I purchased five of the most colorful ones I could find for my colorful friend Jim, figuring he could cut them down to a proper pocket square size. I know I wasn’t supposed to accept the first, second, or even third price that the vendor quoted but I’ve never been able to haggle.
The large suitcase that I wisely packed is now bulging and may exceed the airline’s baggage weight restrictions. I have no regrets about the time we spent shopping. As far as I could tell, our retail expeditions gave us an opportunity to see and experience places beyond the touristy areas. Even in the trendier Kala Ghoda area, the tourists seemed to be from non-Western countries. At least I assume they were also tourists because I heard them speaking in English with the shopkeepers.
Stories from India to be continued…
