The market

           

After walking a kilometer from the hotel we saw a market. A big red arch shot into the sky above it. A man and a woman out front were making long chains out of fragrant flowers. Just in front of the entrance were communist paraphernalia, marking one unique aspect of the state of Kerala. The CPI or communist party of India was brought to Kerala in 1937 and is still strong. The CPI party was elected in 1957 in Kerala, which is often considered the first democratic election of a communist party. Though the communist party is not currently in power the influence has made Kerala a very socialist state, more so than any other in India.

            There were many booths inside the market. There was one with men’s dress shirts hung up at the top. There was a second with shiny metal kitchen utensils and another with fruits that were almost as fragrant as the flowers. The fruits were freshly washed; they looked like they were sweating and had flies buzzing all around them. My dry mouth craved the juice that would come pouring out of those fruits. As I turned a corner there was a row of booths selling women’s clothing. There were manikins outside with western dresses, sarres and salwar kameezes.

            The market was fairly empty which meant that all the venders paid special attention to us. Walking around with another student I began to look at clothing, a personal weakness. I asked the first man how much he was charging for his clothing- one hundred rupees for a dress. Not bad when considering the conversion rate is about forty-four to forty-six rupees to one American dollar.  Forty-six being how much our money is worth in rupees and forty-four being the rate one can actually exchange their money at. Then the next man came right up to the first one’s booth. “I give you better price, 300 rupee, nice dress, you come,” the man said. Coming to India I expected to not be shocked by the accent, I have heard many Americans speak with an Indian accent but all of them were Hindi speakers. Little did I know that that was not the language of Kerala. The language of the state is Malayalam. A wonderful musical language that sounds like the speaker’s tongue is doing a complicated dance that I could never replicate. Before I had had a chance to even look at this new booth a third man came up, “No no, you come with me, good price, please, come with me.” I followed him, he walked behind the counter of his shopping turning to the wall full of piles of bright colored clothing packaged into plastic bags. I was amazed at how quickly he picked up a package, slipped the garment out of the protective covering, unfolded it, and put it on display in front of me. “Very nice, see this.” He kept talking and pulled out another and another. I asked the infamous question. “How much?” It was one-hundred twenty rupees. I didn’t even have to bargain! The men had done it for me. I said, “I’ll be back. I think he did not understand what I said. I went to get the other girls I had come with and told them the price. We all went back and the man was excited; he thought he’d lost the sale but instead he had two more targets. The see-through counter became cluttered with a large pile of bright fabrics. Every garment was unique. They all had their own colors, patterns, decorations; it was amazing.

            We kept calling out colors or new articles of clothing and he always had more. Though his English was limited we were still able to joke around with him. One of the other girls gestured at a pink article of clothing at the top of a stack. “Too small,” was his response. Feigning being hurt I said, “We’re not small?” He responded with, “No no no, too small,” he pulled it out of it’s package, “child.” It indeed looked like it was for a five year old. Even though he was offering a good price we asked if he would lower it even more. He gave us the same response to every one of our offers. He would say no in a way that can only be described as similar to the whiny response a young child gives when he or she is told to go to bed at a family function and he or she knows that everyone will be up without them. But his no always came with a smile, a laugh, and a funny hand gesture. He pinched his fingers together and held them to his thumb, then put his hand up to his head and arched it outwards toward us while following the arch with his body. This I am sure to replicate in the future, though I am not sure why I thought it was wonderful. A student from my group and I picked out matching tops. They were made of white fabric and had flowers embroidered on them with white thread. The tops we bought were the top to an Indian outfit called the Salwar Kameez. These outfits have a huge amount of variety from piece to piece but to put it simply consist of a top that is a hybrid between a shirt and a dress. They go down to about mid thigh and have slits up the side. These are worn with a pair of pants under them and often a scarf work around the neck with the ends hanging down your back. The tops we bought had a small opening giving the impression of a collar with sparkling “buttons” that were hot glued on. They each had a patch of another color; the shape of it resembled a bib. Mine was turquoise with paisley and hers was a rust color. The sleeves were three-quarter length and made of a gauze white material. I also purchased pants to go with mine. They are big, white and baggy. The top of the pants has a drawstring that allows them to be worn by anyone. The loose fit is nice in the hot weather of Kerala.

            We tried to bargain until the last second. He wanted me to pay 320 for the pants and top. I had a five hundred rupee bill in my hand, looked at him and said, “Three-hundred?” His response was the same as ever. I feigned reluctance as I handed him the bill. He came back with two one hundred rupee bills and smiled at me. I knew he had mostly been nice because smaller bills can be hard to come by especially if not many people have bought from you that day. When I traveled to Senegal I was told that some shop owners will tell you to come back later so they can give you your change once they have enough. It is good to not have small bills because then the shop-keepers are more likely to round down to an even number so they don’t have to give you all of the change they have. But I still like to think that it’s just because he liked us. After we had paid he asked us where we were from and what our names were and told us to come back, I think we just might.