Braving the Street Vendors of Delhi

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January 28, 2007 - Part 1

On Sunday morning, Michele arranged for Anirudh to take us shopping in some of the Delhi markets. Anirudh (Ani rhymes with sani from the first part of the word sanitation and rudh sounds like rude - hmm I wonder why the word sanitation came to mind).. Anyway Anirudh is a young man (merely 21 years old) who works the reception desk at The Palms. He and Michele are very close. She describes their relationship as brother/sister. Anirudh is quick to smile, and like all the employees of The Palms he is quick to offer any kind of assistance. Michele likes to take a local with her when she goes shopping because they can help ensure she gets a price closer to the local price instead of the Western price, which can be double. She also likes to take a man with her because things just go more smoothly when you have a man with you here in India.

I met Michele in the lobby and she informed me that we needed to walk next door to the Park Plaza hotel because Jeff and Carol were going to join us for our shopping excursion. They must have been feeling different effects from their jet lag than I did, because I can tell you, the last thing I wanted to do the morning after I landed in Delhi was go shopping all day.

Jeff and Carol were waiting in front of their hotel. Carol immediately explained that her belly was a little iffy and she didn’t want to venture to far from the hotel. She decided not to go. Smart girl! On the other hand, Jeff was still game. While we waited for Anirudh and the driver he had arranged for us, we saw a small herd of cows walking down the middle of the street. They spotted the small green lawn directly in front of us, and decided to stop for breakfast. Under normal circumstances, the doorman would’ve shooed them away, but we were so amused by the experience, they just let them feast on the lawn while we snapped photographs.

Off to Delhi… The complete disrepair of the buildings again shocked me. And I’m not just talking about tents and huts that the impoverished call home sweet home. I mean the commercial buildings too. Michele explained that a few years ago, many commercial buildings were under construction (I’m beginning to realize that something is always under construction in India) when someone in the government determined that the builders didn’t have the correct building permits. More likely… they hadn’t bribed the right guy. The government stopped the construction and the buildings were left to fall into ruin. While you cannot see it in this photo, some of these buildings had beautiful marble exteriors and now they are in shambles. It’s occurs to me that this city is run by men. Always starting a new project, rarely finishing it, making a huge mess, and never cleaning up after themselves.

We went to a government sponsored market called Dilli Haat. You pay a 15 rupee or 35 cent entry fee, and for that you gain access to vendors from the various states / regions of India. The vendors are rotated every 10 - 15 days, so the market is slightly different every time you go. While the vendors there were still very aggressive according to my Western way of thinking, they were meek and mild according to Indian street vendor standards. They would call to you and invite you to look are their wares, but they didn’t chase you down the street relentlessly insisting you need a new belt or set of handkerchiefs or beaded necklace. They would say, “Please ma’am. Please ma’am. Looking is free. Just let me show you.” But they left you alone as you moved beyond their booth or territory.

This market sold handicrafts. Bed covers, shawls, carpets, clothing, jewelry, drawings, pottery, etc.: an excellent place to shop for gifts for everyone back home. It goes without saying that the more civilized and controlled the shopping area, the higher the prices. But who gives a shit?! I’m happy to pay an extra 100 rupees (or $2.25) to avoid the street vendor chaos.

We had lunch at the market. The area is best described as an outdoor food court. Restaurants (or more accurately food booths) selling local cuisine from many of the different states in India. Oh and several Chinese places. Have I mentioned that they love Chinese food here? There is a Chinese restaurant on practically every corner and the cafeteria at work serves it about twice a week. I must confess, it’s pretty good and a welcome departure from Indian food.

Anyway, I decided it was time to test my stomach. So far I hadn’t had any issues with the dreaded Delhi Belly, so I thought what the hell… what’s the worse than could happen? I spend the next couple of days working from my hotel room, and dialing housekeeping to bring more toilet paper?

Anirudh insisted that we try an Indian appetizer. He said that Indian women especially love this particular appetizer. Evidently they frequently serve it at weddings, and the women can’t seem to get enough of it. Let me try to describe this thing to you. It’s the damnedest thing I have EVER put in my mouth.

It is a crispy shell in the shape of a hollow ball… a little bit bigger than a ping pong ball. The shell is very thin, you can see through it, but it is very crispy. The vendor takes this pastry ball, punches a hole in the top, then he spoons about a teaspoon of something from a steaming pot into the ball, next he dips the entire ball into a room temperature greenish liquid so that the crispy shell is now completely filled with this liquid. Anirudh instructs us that we are to put the entire thing in our mouth and enjoy. I’m not sure what I expected, but I was shocked at what hit my mouth. The liquid had a strong pickle juice flavor that hit my taste buds first, then the teaspoon of whatever it was that went in first hit me with a spicy hot POW. It wasn’t terrible, but it was honestly the damnedest thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. I can’t remember what it was called, but we’ve knick-named it Pickled Puff Pastry Ball. Since then we’ve seen them sold all over the place. If this is a treat loved by women, I must admit that at least as far as this little nugget is concerned, the men have better sense.

We hit 3 more markets. The next one was a large market that consisted of outdoor booths and small indoor shops. It wasn’t government controlled, so the prices go down and the harassment from the vendors goes up. Michele was shopping for clothes and bangles, and there were plenty to be found here. One thing I’ve noticed about the vendors, they display their wares very beautifully and with such pride. And while these markets stink to high heaven in places, are simply filthy, and sadly have so many little children begging; they also display flashes of beauty and color. Oh! the dichotomy of Incredible India.

This next picture is in an indoor shop, where Michele was shopping for the blouses that are a part of feminine traditional Indian attire. There were literally thousands of shirts stacked. And would you look at the color!

The last photo is of a street booth that sold primarily bed covers and table clothes. This is what I mean by the vendor’s careful, prideful displays.

We then drove to the center of Delhi to Anirudh’s favorite market. It was an underground market shaped in concentric circles. It was hot and stinky and I was getting cranky and claustrophobic. It might be Anirudh’s favorite, but it wasn’t mine.

It was dark, when we headed to the last market which is just a few blocks away. This damn market is the most disgusting, high-pressure market to date. I HATED IT! There were these relentless roaming salesmen (no saleswomen). They latched onto Jeff, the big white man, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. They followed him for blocks trying to sell him handkerchiefs, belts, and wallets.

This one man, who was selling wallets, followed him for (and I shit you not) 20 blocks trying to sell him a leather wallet. With each block, the guy dropped his price convinced if he went low enough Jeff would buy it. Jeff never wavered, never led the guy on, nothing of the kind… he consistently said, “No. Thank You.” “I’m not interested.” “I don’t want a wallet.” “I don’t need a wallet.” The guy wouldn’t let up… Okay there was a 4 or 5 block period where he disappeared, but then he suddenly appeared again. It pissed me off. It was the first time I was mad in India. Enough was enough. I yelled at him. Nothing eloquent: just loud repetition, “No! No! No! No! No! No!” He made one final attempt and finally left Jeff alone. Welcome to India, Jeff.

It was very late now. We were all exhausted - especially jet lagged Jeff. It was time to find our driver. Well guess what? We can’t find him. No telling where he ended up parking. Anirudh had his cell phone number but guess what? Anirudh's cell phone wouldn’t work - probably out of minutes. He ended up using a privately owned public telephone (like the one in the picture in the previous entry). We located the guy and headed back to the hotel without incident.

I was beginning to think I might be able to survive here.

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