Shopping for Necessities...and Other Things

     “India at last!”  I sigh as I look out over the land.  My new friend, Jake, had woken me up just a few minutes ago, so that I could watch us flying over India.

     “So where do you live?”  He asks.

     “North Carolina.”  I answer sitting back in my seat.

     “Same here.  I live in Boone.”

      “Really!  Where at in Boone?”  I ask stunned.

     “Caspian Road in Boone.”

     “No way!  That`s where I live!”  I say amazed. 

     “It`s a small world!  You don`t go to the high school do you?” he asks.

     “No, I`m homeschooled.”

     “Oh,” he says sadly.  “We`ll have to hang out some time.”

     Is this guy asking me on a date?  He`s like a total hunk!  “Yeah, we will totally have to do that.”  Oh, I sound like an idiot with the “totally” thing going on.  Thanks Riley for teaching me to always say totally.  It`s totally not cool!  

     The plane lands and the seatbelt button flashes.

     “Well I`ll see you around.”  I say getting up.

     “Wait!” he calls out, and then scribbles something on a piece of paper.  “Here, call me,” he says raising his eyebrows.

     “How old are you?”  I ask placing my hand on my hip, and narrowing my eyebrows.  If your over twenty-one, then don`t even bother giving me your number.  I usually draw the line at twenty, but I may need to make an exception. 

     “Nineteen.”

     Good!  “Ok.”  I say taking the paper. “131-4343?”

     “Call me anytime.”

     I then scribble my number onto a small piece of paper, and hand it to him.

     “131-3210.”

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     “Alright.  I`ll see you later.”

     We get up, and head to the door.  With each step, I think Dad is so going to kill me!

     As I step out of the plane, I feel smaller than I`ve ever felt in my whole life.  This is my first time in India, surrounded by totally new people, who speak a totally different language, and have a strange way of life, not to mention that I am on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.  Not that these feelings weren`t with me in France, but this is real.  The reality strikes here.

     I walk from the plane to the small building that is supposed to be the airport.

     Inside the building, there are more people than at the one at home, and at Paris combined.  The people have tan skin, and jet-black hair.  The women wear saris which are sort of like dresses with an oversized scarf draped over the shoulder.  The men wear dress type clothes with long sleeves.  A few of the men even wear the traditional turban.

     Since no one is here to greet me, I make my way to the doors, and step out into the palm tree peninsula.  The street market, or Janpath, as it is known here, is crawling with natives and foreigners alike.

     I have to keep my eyes on the ground; otherwise, the merchants will pull me into their shops and compel me to buy something.  I guess when you are hungry you are rather uncivilized.

     My legs are sticky and sweaty, and as I pass an old woman selling knee-length, flowing skirts, I can`t help glancing at them.  My eyes linger on the sky blue skirt with swirls sewn into it. 

     The woman must have caught my glance, because, all of a sudden, she waddles over to me…and grabs my arm!  I had not realized that she was going to put a death grip on my arm!  Her untrimmed nails dig into my arm, threatening to rip the skin right off!  I can`t take my arm back, and I start freaking out.  Then she starts dragging me to her stand.  I am completely stunned, and don`t know what to do.  I didn`t know that such a small woman could have such strength!

     “What do you want?”  I ask hearing the unwanted fear in my voice.

     “You want?  Help an old lady.  You want?”  Her fragile yet strong voice requires my sympathy.

     “How much?”  I ask in a steady voice.  I cannot betray my fear to this lady.

     “Thirty American money.”

     “Fifteen.”

     “Thirty.”

     We bargain back and forth.  I want to give in, but I know that I could use the extra fifteen dollars to

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buy a few meals.  When you`re hungry, all rules fly out the window.

     In a half an hour, I pay ten dollars for the skirt.  We fought for so long, that I decided that fifteen was just too high for the light, blue skirt.

     You don`t mess with the North Carolinian,  I am thinking.  I dare not say it aloud though.  The motherless girl knows how to fend for herself,  I continue.

     “You are an idiot!”  I yell at myself.  “Half the time you know nothing, and mess everything up.

     I keep walking with my head down.  I try to block out the calls of the hungry peasants.  The shops are so close together, that the calls intermingle with each other.  One woman calls out her goods and the man next to her uses his booming voice to drown her out.  Then the same thing happens to him.  It`s a wonder that these people don`t have laryngitis or at least hoarse voices around noon!  What`s even more amazing is that the customers don`t go deaf after just a few hours in this confined market.

     I try to block out all of the ridiculous calls.  Everything eventually sounds monotone.  Now the merchants could hire a dancing monkey, and it wouldn`t catch my attention!  I laugh at the thought.

     I eventually reach the wealthy end of the market.  There are many small shops around this area.  This place is not nearly as packed as the poorer section of the Janpath.

     I walk inside a small clothing outlet.  Dresses with floral prints hang everywhere.  Skirts line the walls.  A light blue shirt with a palm tree on the side catches my eye, but I know that I still need to purchase a small boat, so I forget about buying the shirt.  I walk up to the cashier and say, “Excuse me.”

     “Yes,” is her sweet reply.  I can tell at once that she is a really friendly girl, just by her sweet, bouncy voice and dancing black eyes.

     “I was wondering if there was a place to change into my new skirt.  I`m sweltering in my jeans.”

     “Of course,  Ma’am.  Usually tourists wear shorts to India,” she informs me, as she shows me to the dressing room.

     “I`m sure they do.” I walk into the changing area, and close the thick curtain.  I`m not too keen on the idea of changing behind a curtain, but I have no other choice.  I quickly change into my loose flowing skirt, and wind my hair in a bun, to fit the skirt look.  When I walk out, I thank the cashier for her help, and ask her where I can buy a boat.

     “You turn left when you walk out of here, and keep going until you come to the harbor.  Then go to Lenny`s Boats and tell him that Andrea sent you.  He`s sure to give you a great deal,” she informs me.

     “Thank you so much,” I say walking into the lonely street.    

     After a few minutes I look up at a crude wooden sign with weaponry carved into it.  I decide that this

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is as good a place to look for a knife as the next shop so I walk up the steps and push through the door.

     I walk over to the counter and look at his endless supply of knives.  Double sided…one sided…ones to hunt with…ones for skinning fish…pocket knives.  The list can go on and on, for eternity! 

     “Does the little lady need something to protect her beautiful self?”  he asks smiling a golden grin.

     “I need something for both protection and hunting.”

     “I guess this dagger wouldn`t work then,” he says, holding up a small pointed dagger with a silver tipped base. 

     Okay now I`m insulted!  It looks like a rich lady`s letter opener!  How could I even begin to defend myself with that!?

     I pick up a medium sized knife.  The blade is eight inches long, and it`s double sided, just like what Riley told me to purchase.  The teeth stick out like shark`s teeth and they are parallel to each other all the way down to about three inches from the top.  It only weighs about ten pounds, so I figure it will be perfect for throwing.

     “I think this one will do,” I say holding up the lethal weapon.  “Is there any way that I could test it?”

     “Sure, I have a target in the back, that most people use for shooting rounds; but no one`s back there.  Test it all you want.”

     I walk through a doorway into a poorly lit room.  There are two targets tacked onto a carpeted wall.  It is about ten yards away from where I am standing.  I aim my knife at the bulls-eye, by holding the knife at arm’s length and lining it up.  Then with a sweeping motion, I flex my arm and fling my arm forward, letting the knife fly in midair.  The knife is suspended above the hardwood floor for a few milliseconds and then rips through the paper target.  Dead center!  All that practicing with Riley really paid off!

     I retrieve the knife, and turn around, warning myself not to skip back with the knife in my hands.  I look up to find out that the man had been watching me.  His mouth has dropped open, and is as wide as an unlatched door.  His eyes are huge!  They are as big, if not bigger, than two fairly large sized apples.

     “How much are you willing to sell it for?”  I ask calling out.

     He keeps his large eyes trained on me, as if I were asking if I could make him my next target.  “I would usually sell it for 3,497 rupees, which is fifty-five American dollars; but for a master markswoman like yourself, I`ll consent to fifty flat.”

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     Fair enough.  Let`s bring it down though.  “I`ll buy it for forty dollars,”  I offer.

     “I can`t do that, Ma’am.  Not even for a woman like you.  Fifty is as low as I can go.”

     “Forty,” I shrug as if it is no big deal.

     “Fifty, I need to eat today,” he calls back.

     The game continues for a half an hour.  Forty-eight…forty…forty-seven fifty…forty…it continues back and forth.  I am still determined to pay forty dollars, and in a while, the knife is mine for forty dollars even.

     “Thank you, sir,” I say as I purchase my knife. 

     I walk through this rich market place.  The goods are much prettier here than when I first entered the market.  A man is selling jewelry that looks like it has real emeralds enlaidened in it.  All kinds of gems adorn his jewelry.  Some necklaces look so heavy, that if you put one on and jumped into the ocean, you would sink like the Titanic.

     This is my kind of market.  Even though the prices are higher than they are at the slum end of the Janpath, they don`t pressure me to buy anything.  No icy hands death-grip my arm.  No one grabs my shirt so tightly as if to say, “If you don`t buy something from me, I`ll rip this right off your back, leaving you exposed and humiliated.”  Here, jolly fat men replace the solemn, bony women.  Here, their eyes represent their merchandise; they both sparkle in one way or another.

     I walk past paintings of the beach and of mountains.  I pass a weaver`s shop, where she displays blankets that tell the stories of hunting trips and weddings.  She works away at her loom, weaving in and out with ease.  Her weaving is so perfect, that only the picture is seen, and not the weaving work.  Her rugs are made of reeds that are grown here.

     A little girl comes around the corner, carrying a load of reeds for her mother.  They both have the same sweet smile, and small noses.

     I trudge on, thinking about that sweet little girl.  How hard her life must be!  Even though she must be a little richer than some others here, she is kept home from school to do backbreaking work for her mother.  Has she even ever stepped foot in a school?

     My stomach is emptier than it has ever been in my whole life.  They didn`t serve breakfast on the plane, so I hadn`t eaten anything since last night.  Thinking about that large, juicy, steak makes my appetite even worse.  I can taste the corncob smothered in butter, and doused with salt.  My stomach is growling at me, begging for some food.  All this walking has taken its toll on my hunger.  I must get my mind off food!  

  I walk for about an hour.  Now I feel like I could faint at any moment.  My backpack is wasting away my

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energy, and my pockets…there`s food in them!  I fumble with the button that barricades my way to the food.  Breaking into my pocket, I pull out some of my care packages.  Carrots…dried apples…dried peaches…a feast! and I`m only naming a few things.  They were in my pockets all along, I had just forgotten about them.  I chose the carrots and the peaches, and saved the rest for later.

     The carrots are warm, and are turning soft; but that shouldn`t kill me.  I bite into the carrot and gag on it.  NEVER eat rotten carrots!!!  I make a mental note to myself.  I pour the carrots onto the ground for the birds.  I pull out the dried apples, and eat them instead.  It brings back some of my energy, and silences my stomach a little.  I take my time on the presalted peaches, savoring every bite.  They are crispy, and a tad bit salty, to preserve them.  They are delicious!  I would prefer these over potato chips any day!

     I keep walking until I reach the spot that Andrea told me about.  The thing she failed to mention was how far away it was.  I feel like I`ve walked to China and back!

     Boats line the harbor.  There are a few cruise ships, but most of the ships are fishing vessels.  I walk around the harbor clockwise until I come to a small store with “Lenny`s Boats” printed clearly above the door post.  I walk into the boating store.  Fishing poles line the shelves.  Maps of the whole world are used as unique wallpaper.  Flashlights take up a small space on a shelf and shares the shelf with some bait and tackle. 

     I could look around all day pondering what everything`s purpose is, but I am on a mission…target, buy a boat…and a good spy never stops until her mission is complete.  I walk up to the cashier, dropping the detective act, and ask in my sweetest voice, ”Can you tell me where Lenny is?”

     “You`re looking right at him.  What can I do for you, mate?”

     “I`m looking to buy a boat.  Andrea told me to come and see you.”

     “A boat.  Going fishing, dear?” he asks.

     “No, sir, more like an adventure.”

     “Fair enough, follow me,” he says, leaving his counter unattended.

     What`s this?  If we were in America, this man would get robbed.  Isn`t he afraid that might happen?  I ponder these thoughts as I walk into his shipyard.