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| Palace of the Winds in Jaipur. |
Confession: I am writing this blog having already returned to the U.S. following my last 72 hours in India. Those hours included a two-day stopover in Jaipur, otherwise know as “the Pink City” for its characteristic terra cotta buildings, and a brief landing in our original Delhi. Enough time for a thorough wander of Jaipur’s Palace of the Winds, and endless markets in the Hawa Mahal. Enough time for a round of cocktails at the Imperial Hotel with some of my lady travel buddies as well (or two rounds!). Bottoms up with martinis and laughs on my final night before 17 hours of reading and Bollywood film.
And enough time to meet Doma, the beautiful, grumpy Tibetan woman with white eyelashes who sold me a copper bowl and copper mug. On my last day in Delhi, hours before my departure to the airport, I wandered by a strip of boutique shops featuring Tibetan artisanal merchandise. I was tipped off by the ‘Tibetan’ part based on signage in front of the consecutive stores, which looked like the closest thing to an American strip mall that I had found in India. I walked by the merchants, all selling fairly similar items – chunky gemstone jewelry, metal bells and Tibetan bowls, statues of Ganesh and Buddha.
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| Flower market in the Hawa Mahal, Jaipur. |
The final store in the strip showcased shelves of bowls, cups and mugs made of what turned out to be copper. A collector of pottery and household items while on the road, I was drawn to this place immediately. A small woman seated in the corner was the only person in the store, so I presumed her to be the owner. I smiled in acknowledgement as I entered. She barely glanced in my direction.
I started exploring the bowls against the wall. I would periodically turn to her, hold up a bowl and request the price or confirm the material. With each query, the woman responded with comments like, “it’s copper, I promise it real;” “I cut it for you to show you its copper if you want;” “come closer, I can’t see what you holding.” Some items were Indian, but most items were Tibetan. She was curt, irritable and impatient. She would turn her face away, frustrated with my questions.
I remained unscathed by her vexation. The more we began to connect, the more the woman softened, responding with less defense and more context, less anger and more fatigue. I was detecting the accumulated effect of tourists eager to bargain for the lowest price possible. This woman was annoyed by tourists keen to find copper bowls like hers “without the dents in them” (otherwise known as intricate, historic carvings – I loved the dents). I had empathy for her – her name was Doma – and my guess is she probably had this store for years and was exhausted by tourists who cared more about bargains than authentic connection with Tibetan culture. Doma mentioned coming to Delhi at age 22 (she is now age 90), and I silently remarked on the number of decades she might have endured being annoyed at tourists like me.
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| Doma, my Tibetan goddess with white eyelashes. |
I bought a bowl and a mug, and before leaving, Doma asked if I had something from my country to trade with her. “A water bottle, a scarf, or something…anything,” she said. I usually have all kinds of random stuff in my purse but this time, I had nothing but my passport, some cash and two credit cards. I mentioned my departure that evening but insisted I would return were there time to run back to the hotel.
She wrapped my items, remarkably engaged compared to my initial arrival. As I left, she looked me right in the eye, and said, “God bless you.” She left me with a hint of a smile, which filled me up.
A perspective shifting experience, India was, right up until the last interaction with Doma. I will never forget Doma and her angelic face with the white eyelashes.
As well, I have India in my system now, forever and gladly.
