The Solution To Inflation Is Bargaining

A few quick questions before we begin:

1. Do you like having healthy discussions with people?
2. Do you believe in not accepting the norm but changing things instead?
3. Do you think that Rs. 5,000 is far too much money to pay for a Pashmina Shawl even if it is actually made in Srinagar?
4. Do you think you could bring the price of that shawl to something around Rs. 800?

If you answered yes to all of the above questions, then you are probably already an astute bargainer and can choose to stop reading this article at this point. For the rest of you, read carefully, and you too will be able to magically bring down prices, dramatically increase your shopping time and overcome your fear of the MRP.

Bargaining is an ancient art form that involves thinking that all shopkeepers are thieves and that it is your divine right to get everything at the lowest price, if not entirely for free. Once you have acquired this mindset, you can begin your journey as a Bargainer.

Now the trick to bargaining is to never, I repeat TO NEVER, show how desperate you are to buy something. Even if you’re having a heart attack and you need a ventilator, the moment you show your desperation, the shopkeeper will refuse to entertain any bargaining offers. The second thing to remember is to always quote a ridiculously low amount. Do this with all seriousness so that the shopkeeper thinks that you really believe the ventilator is actually worth Rs. 42. The lower the initial price you are willing to pay, the more room you get to bargain.

However also keep in mind the time factor. Bargaining is an art for the long haul. It is not for people who have, “time constraints”, “Would like to make a quick stop” or “Have better things to do”. If you really want the best deal you will have to have time on your hands because it could take a while to convince a crooked shopkeeper. For example:

Shopkeeper: The cost of the Uni-Vent Portable ventilator is Rs, 3,75,000

Buyer: Tcha! I wont pay anything more than Rs. 42

Shopkeeper: This is the fixed rate. But because you are having a heart attack, I will give it you for Rs. 3,74,999.

Buyer (Clutching at heart): Rs. 43.

Shopkeeper: Rs. 3,74,998.

Buyer (last breath): Rs. 44. *dies*

As you can see this bargain was unsuccessful because the buyer didn’t spend enough time on it.

Shopkeepers are very insecure about their competition. You can exploit this by saying things like, “The shop down the road is selling it for less.” Your shopkeeper will immediately droop and begin lowering his prices, instead of wondering why you aren’t buying from the shop down the road. Use this to your advantage and remember never to give into any argument a shopkeeper may make about his goods having better quality.  

Always remember that both, you and the shopkeeper are trying to call each other’s bluffs and if you blink first you will have to make do with overpriced goods. Stay firm on your stance, even go as far as walking away if you have too. Trust me there is no sound sweeter than a shopkeeper’s defeated voice as he calls you back and agrees to sell the ventilator for Rs. 42. 

Amritsar For Amateurs

My back hurt as I tossed from side to side on the scruffy red carpet. I couldn’t feel my toes because of the cold. All around me I could hear ripping snores. Sleep was impossible. Beside me, my friend, Zameer (Henceforth Zam. Yes, Because it is easier to type) had managed to somehow drift off. We were paying 600 bucks for a hotel room only to spend our nights uncomfortably, outdoors and on the floor. But it was not just any floor. We were lain out in a spacious open hall at the Golden Temple, in Amritsar, many many miles from home, seeking experience, adventure and who knows what else. Lying there, shaking and shivering like a mound of jelly, I couldn’t help but think that there was some poetry to this event.

The first thing you notice about Amritsar is its age. It’s like the city is stuck in a time capsule; old buildings in a perpetual state of crumbling, line the narrow streets that seep through the city and overheard you see the black wisps of ugly cable lines. In fact it looks so stuck in time that you might actually be forgiven for thinking Dev Anand was alive and still the biggest star in India (OK, is it still too early for that joke?) In many ways, it still remains that stereotypical small Indian town that we hold in our collective consciousness. The other things you will notice immediately are the cycle rickshaws.

I observed two things about cycle rickshaws which puzzle me deeply. One, they all seemed to be pedalled by old men. Cycle rickshaws being rather exacting on the body, I was expecting younger men to be plying them but it was the older and more sickly who seemed to be the ones in the business. Maybe it had something to do with tradition where the idea of pulling along a pair of fat women on a cycle appealed only to men born pre-independence. The second thing about cycle rickshaws is that they are ridiculously cheap. And by cheap I mean it was far too less money for the mammoth effort it takes to drive a cycle rickshaw. Try taking a ride on one though. Nothing makes you feel more like a cruel, heartless aristocrat who makes people slave for pittance, than a short ride on a cycle rickshaw. 

On our second day, we went to Wagha Border. It was a rickety two hour rickshaw ride with our driver, Rakeshji (pronounced Rakechji) going on insufferably about the digestive systems of his two cows back home, Mungo and Sukho. PRO TIP: Farm animals are always a great conversation starter in Punjab. Wagha Border was one heck of an experience. To me it felt like Supermarket Patriotism. Want to feel Indian? Never had violent feelings towards your sub-continent neighbours? Want to feel huge swathes of attachment and furious love toward the motherland by getting into a shouting match with people across the border? Come to Wagha! In 15 minutes of therapeutic sloganeering, patriotic song playing and a kooky ceremony involving cartoonish marching, you will guaranteed feel 90% more Indian. The real fun part was the contrast between the two countries. The Indian side of the border was full; so packed that people were literally falling out of the arena. On the other hand, the Pakistani side had 4 people and a goat. It was really one-sided, they didn’t even put up a fight.

 It was very surreal when we slept at the Golden Temple. One of the most beautiful and mystical places I have ever been to. With its majestic turrets rising above the city, you can see its grandeur long before you set foot in it. Inside, white marble flooring borders a tranquil man-made lake, in the centre of which sits the temple, in all its golden luminosity. When you sit meditatively looking at the temple, you realise the things that you really need, for example I was thinking of an extra shawl. We also had Langar; the community food that is provided 24 x 7 and free of cost. It’s the kind of system that makes big, capitalist conglomerates like McDonalds wet their pants.

Punjab knows how to cook. The amount of food Zam and I ate, savoured, wolfed, dispatched and devoured could well have solved the food woes of half the world. The well marinated chicken Tandoori at Bubby Chicken House; the naans, kulcha’s and fresh-from-the-cow paneer at Pehlwan Da Dabha; the lassi at Ahuja Lassi Centre (not for nothing is their tagline, “East or west, Ahuja is the best), were all mind-blowingly good. PRO TIP: the real good restaurants are the ones that have names that sound like a gym, and whose hygienic standards look questionable at best. Also, make sure to keep your finicky, “Go easy on the butter” requests aside when you go to Punjab. This place takes no prisoners in the butter and other fatty products department. To give you an idea of the inch-increasing powers of Punjabi cuisine let me tell you that I didn’t have to wear a belt after our second day in Amritsar.

Overall Amritsar is an overpowering, all-encompassing experience, complete with culture and cuisine. It takes you a little a while to get used to suddenly seeing so many bobbing colourful turbans and the polite to a fault nature of the people. It’s not something two mumbaikars like us were used to. The words, “Paji, Sastriakaal” are the Punjabi equivalent of, “Open Sesame”; utter them and at once people will open up to you.  The roads were another thing that we took some getting used to. There is no system of traffic in Amritsar. There are just roads and things on roads. Everyone only moves ahead and the constant honking makes for a strange road-side disco beat.

Amritsar with all its crazy contradictions, its grandeur and grittiness has managed to etch itself in our minds. It’s a place that has much to give and more to hide. In some ways it reminds me of Sunny Deol: tough, loud yet simple. On that note, excuse me while I join a gym and find a way to get my clothes to fit me again!

No Bigger Waste Of Paper Than A Diary

Every New Year brings with it that dreaded waste of paper: The Diary. It’s like an epidemic. Every shop you see will have on display, diaries that say ‘2012’ on their cover (yes, even the shop that sells spare bike parts.) There’s just no escaping them. They’re there in all sizes, shapes and colours and the sad part is, you have to buy one even though you know that you’re probably not going to write anything in it after exactly three days.

Seized by New Year Enthusiasm™, you open your diary with a dramatic intake of breath to begin the documentation of your year, only to realise that the actual writing of it is not as exciting as it seemed in your head. It’s hard work writing about all the mundane battles of your life. Many people usually drop out at this stage. “Who would have thought that ‘writing’ a diary would involve any actual writing”, they usually think to themselves.

The few who persevere face another kind of problem, one of not having anything to write about. It’s only when you keep a diary that you realise how boring and pointless your life really is. A typical diary usually ends up looking something like this:

Jan 1^st:  I am starting a diary today! This way I’ll have a record of my life so that I can look back at it later and see how far I’ve come. I find writing very calming and relaxing, I wonder why most people don’t keep diaries. Anyway, today, I woke up early. Brushed my teeth. Had a dosa for breakfast!.... went out with friends... watched some TV... slipped while coming out of the bathroom and landed hard on my back! Haha!

Jan 5^nd: The weather was really nice today! I went out. After a while, I came back home. It was fun.  Also, the weather was really nice. We celebrated Mom’s birthday by going out for dinner. The weather was nice, then too.

Jan 19^th: My back still hurts. The Doctor thinks I cracked a vertebra.

In the end, all the other pages are going to be left blank and hopefully, with any luck, they will one day find better use in the hands of some Bhelpuriwalla, who will use them as makeshift cones. (I, myself, have once eaten Bhelpuri out of 12^th July.)

They say that a diary can be your best friend. You can tell it your innermost thoughts, secrets, fears, desires and it will listen patiently, never once judging you. In many ways it is much better than a best friend because I know for a fact that no matter how good a friend you have, if you tell them what you really think about your boss and his stupid policies on “office decorum”, they will inevitably judge you a little. And then, maybe even call the police.

Be careful with your diary though. Although it is better at not judging you, it is not as good as your best friends when it comes to keeping a secret. In fact, it divulges everything to any person who happens to open it. So unless you want pesky people finding out about your innermost thoughts, I strongly suggest you get a diary with a lock on it or better still, you could do what I did and not keep a diary at all. 

Happy New Year!

2012 is here! They say this year is going to be the end of the world. Funnily enough, that's the thought I have at the start of every year, when I wake up with a pounding hangover, after a crazy New Year's Party.

Anyhow, 2012, looks bright. It feels like a fresh page to draw on.  So, Happy New Year! I hope you draw something really good, in the next 12 months. And remember to paint within the borders!