cotton in the taj mahal

Walking around in Chickpet (a shopping street in Bangalore) barefoot was an awful experience today. Not a single shopkeeper let me in. No, it wasn't because I wasn't shod. It was because I uttered the word, Cotton.

Pure Cotton? 100% cotton? No, maam. Cotton is out of fashion. It crumples. Nobody makes cotton anymore. We have silk. Try silk.

How I wished I were in Ahmedabad, or Mumbai, or Nagpur or Pune or even Tiru! I know where to get those beautiful colored cotton lungis in Tiru and make them into salwar kameeses.

I have avoided shopping in Bangalore for a whole year. Now I am daring to go out in the jungle all alone to find a nice shop and what happens? I get home sick! For all the shops in other cities, where there is enough cotton to clothe an entire film unit. And that includes the extras.

After walking around in the rain water slosh for a couple of hours, I finally stepped out of the chickpet street. And saw a shop with the words: Handloom Cotton! I was in front of the Taj Mahal! I almost kissed the shop keeper. And he almost kissed me back. Both of us had a whale of a time. I even gave him my debit-card to take down to another shop because his phone line wasn't working.

Sitting in the bus on the way back home, I dosed off with all the shopping bags on my lap. And realized why I brought two very similar prints. They remind me of my grandfather's bedsheets.