Travel Journal - Entry 2

Varanasi 2/10/08
Clothing styles are interesting. For the most part men wear western style shirts, sweaters, jeans jackets, whatever. The styles could be modern but its a little bit confusing in this context. This all became very real for me as I tried to buy another pair of cargo pants since the ones I had brought along were so industriously comfortable.

I had gone into a shop to look around. What I found was that besides the ridiculously high prices ($30 US??), the styles were decidedly 70's or 80's with odd embroidery, scattered corduroy and weird pockets every which way but natural. Nothing I could ever agree to wear let alone pay that much for.

The buying experience must have been strictly Indian - a long U-shaped counter with boys/teens/young men behind showing potential buyers choices based on their size and preference. For me it was to be cargo pants, 38x34. The cry went out and after some time a boy brought a stack of plastic wrapped pants from somewhere in the back. 15 pairs or so, assorted colors. Another guy (my helper) pulled each pair out of its bag, unfolded them for my inspection, and then folded it partially (longways) before doing the same to the next pair.

I discovered that an Indian size 38 is smaller than an American size 38. After trying on the two least embellished pair, which didn't fit at all, the guy measuring me. Leaning over from from behind the counter with his measuring tape, I was told I was a 40. Hmmm.

Yeah so I didn't buy anything there.

For the most part kids here are great. They are children in every aspect. Innocent, curious, playful. Quick to smile. The first set I encountered in Mumbai were all this. I then began to hear about and eventually crossed paths with a few. They were poor, dirty, cuter then hell and annoyingly persistent in running beside me for a sale or a handout. "Hellooo!", is where it all starts. I have taken to pretending not to understand English in order to avoid these encounters. Yesterday after the hundredth kid asked me for something I jabbered back in some unintelligible gibberish I made up there on the spot. Which he merely parroted back to me. Smart ass. But I could appreciate that.

I met these three as they were playing outside my friends flat in Bandra. I asked if I could take their snap and they got all organized and lined up and ready for me. They called me 'Uncle'. That's a term of respect.

At least it wasn't 'Grandpa'.