I generally don’t think of myself
as a big shopper. Sure, I’ll buy things when I want them, and I’ve gone on the
occasional spree of shopping at several stores in one day or one afternoon. But
my spending rarely exceeds $100 in any given day, and in general, I’m not as
interested in buying things as many seem to be. In general, that is, except for
when I’m in India. In India, a place where I have no friends to hang out with,
no errands to run or schoolwork to attend to, my favorite thing to do is shop.
I always think it’s a little hilarious when non-Indians marvel at “all the
colors” in Indian clothing, but when I’m in the bazaars of my motherland, I
share their awe. Compared to Western clothing, Indian fashion is a colorful
free-for-all. Sure, you’ll always have your silk saris and your lehngas and
your salvar kameez, but the colors and fabrics and patterns and designs keep
changing. What’s the latest, trendy blend of silk and cotton? Which color
combinations are all the rage now? Are puff sleeves in or out? What kinds of
patterns are on borders these days? Is embroidery in, or stonework, or
mirrorwork? The possibilities are endless.
Buying in India when you’re going
to eventually fly home to America is, quite literally, a delicate balance. In
past trips, I’ve purchased things ravenously, seduced by “all the colors” and
influenced by the sights around me and the lifestyle of India, only to get home
and open up my suitcase and wonder what on earth I was thinking. Somewhere in
my parents’ house, I have barrettes and purses and jewelry and harem pants that
I will never use in the States. Having become aware of my tendency to make
ill-advised purchases under India Intoxication, in recent trips I’ve tried to
rein in my purchasing. Never mind that this thing costs less than a dollar, I
tell myself; Do I really need it? Often, the answer is no.
Still, even when I think I’m not
shopping that much, somehow I always seem to end up struggling to pack my
suitcases just so, so that I don’t exceed the allowed 50 pounds of luggage per
bag (two bags per traveler, of course).
This always leads to tension. The last time I traveled to India by
myself, I was filled with inordinate, overwhelming anxiety at the sheer weight
and volume of my luggage. How could one person accumulate over 100 pounds of
baggage? Why, when I was among my luggage, did I feel I could hide within a
fort created by its volume? It just felt wrong for one person and her
possessions to take up so much space. It felt entitled and over-the-top and I
didn’t like it. It felt, well, like conspicuous consumption.
It’s funny, “conspicuous
consumption” is a term most often applied to the American way of life. Booming,
thriving capitalism, big malls and expensive clothes and more electronics than
one can count. And while I agree that Americans buy a lot of stuff and spend a
lot of money and don’t save enough (big generalization, of course), I think
that I’ve never seen consumption quite as conspicuous as that of the bazaars of
India. There, you’ll find narrow streets lined chock-full of shops upon shops
upon shops, selling clothing and food and shoes and bags and anything else you
can think of. And every single day, these bazaars are teeming with people,
people who are buying things at these shops. I’m not saying this is bad, and I’m
not saying it is good. I’m just saying it is an undeniable, and more than a
little overwhelming, part of life in India.
But just in case you’re wondering:
I got some pretty things here. Looking forward to trotting out my new clothes
when I get back home.
