Indian markets are not like other Asian markets. There are no quaint stalls under tents or open air structures. Rather the market place is filled with tiny shops, often several creative levels of shops that all have street visibility through the clever placement of steps and ceilings. That’s the structure, then there is the absolute eruption of goods flowing into the pedestrian pathways (one can hardly use the term sidewalk, but the various piles of rubble and occasionally spotted workmen suggest that maybe someday there will be sidewalks).
I arrived innocently enough to buy fabric for the trousers I’m having made by the exquisite Mr. Shiv (more later on this talented man—for now suffice it to say that I am having much more luck with my Indian tailor than I did with my Malawian tailor). That’s all I was going to buy. I keep telling myself that I’m saving myself for Rajasthan where there are items of such exquisite beauty at such an excellent price that I won’t be able to control myself (and I’ll be on holiday, which is always a sure indicator of the need to spend more money than intended). Apparently I’m in training for this loss of control when it comes to shopping. I bought SO MUCH stuff today. But the most agonized purchase (of course the most expensive) was a new pair of glasses frames. I tried on every pair in the shop and simply freaked out at the cost—until I did the math and realized that the cost was $30, for something that I would pay $300 at home. Is this the rationalization process for all spending sprees?
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