I like to shop.
Before you roll those eyes in a fit of anti-consumerism, I didn’t say, “buy.” Acquisition is not the point of shopping. It’s a process of appreciation, education, drooling over oogle-worthy objects, and rejecting shoddy crap. Part of my travel is understanding the story of objects — how art, decoration, and beauty is created, valued or discarded, how food is made, and how each culture decides through its own, or other’s eyes, what’s important to see or acquire within its borders.
India is a shoppers’ paradise, not just because the dollar goes a long way, though that’s true. India is a place where design, color, and artisan craft is an essential part of the culture.
Like most countries with a huge split between rich and poor, there is a native economy and a tourist economy. Objects are made with tourist dollars in mind. Stores are created just to push products to tourists who have tight itineraries and want “authentic” goods to take home. The prices are high but the stores count on the fact that time is short and the bus is about to leave for the next temple.
They bet you won’t quibble over $5, $10 or $20, or more. A couple of cups of Starbucks’ versus a beautiful marble elephant? Chances are, the shop will discount it a couple of bucks and you’ll be happy to take the prized memory.
For the intrepid and patient, the other economy awaits in the back alleys, the bazaars, and the odd small shop over there, behind the street you find after that delicious curry lunch. It’s work. There’s negotiation (you are a tourist, after all, and you will be overcharged). There are too many choices. There may be Masala Chai and you may end up great friends.
But wait. There’s one more economy, the one in the sky, built by fallen Raj royalty, Bollywood stars, and billionaires. Luxury has no limit when labor is so inexpensive. Silks are embroidered with pinprick nearly microscopic stitches. Lavish beading can make dresses to heavy to stand in. The workmanship is beyond the comprehension of a machine-made world. Forget the price. The tens of thousands of hours of work that each piece represents made me hope that the person on the other side of the craft loved doing it as much as I loved seeing it. Or at a minimum, he or she was paid enough to make my love unburdened.
Of course, in India, you can never be sure.
Jewelry
I have never been to a country which valued jewelry as much as India. Walk into a high-end jewelry store in India and you will be dazzled with case after case of necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings made with heavy 22 carat gold settings and laden with scads of “rose cut” aka “uncut” diamonds, or saturated with rubies, emeralds and lapis, carnelian, turquoise and opals. Only 5% of Indian families may have bank accounts but all of them have lots and lots of gold jewelry. Gold is the only thing that matters because you can always grab and go when the next invasion/collapse/disaster occurs.
Mumbai cuts 70% of the diamonds in the world. Jaipur cuts almost all the world’s tanzanite, and a big percentage of the world’s emerald, ruby, and colored stones. Twenty-two-carat gold is the standard, mostly in a warm, bright yellow-gold color. Some designers dim the color for a more antique look but almost all of it is heavy in the style of the Raj royalty. Imagine cascading layers of gemstones, made to be worn when sitting pretty the only thing you are required to do. Earrings are so weighty they come with an extra top ear loop to unburden the lobes. Dancing while wearing these baubles might cause serious injury.
Sabyasachi, Location: Mumbai & Dehli – Entering the shop is entering a hushed world, where dimmed light, antique mirrors, and Indian rugs create a home for a lush world of high-style Indian couture. Bridal wear is expectedly opulent and only by appointment. Matching jewels for the big day start in the $20,000’s. Bold, gold and breathtaking sets of necklaces and earring with massive uncut diamonds make the vintage Raj jewels seem staid and middle-class in comparison. See Priyanka Chopra’s wedding shots for a glimpse of what I’m talking about. Downstairs, the collections of dresses and menswear are masterfully tailored. Choose from massively intricate designs or subtle brocade — I mean, subtle for India. This is a country where textiles are often so loud they announce themselves before you enter a room. Here, they whisper. Okay, a stage whisper.
Amarapali, Location: Mumbai, Delhi, & Jaipur – Fanciful designs combine the stories and obsessions of Indian culture. Some pieces feel like they are based on a Hindu tradition or prayer, a nod to Ganesh’s trunk or Laxmi’s open hands. Others remind me of the Mughal reliefs in the Red Fort, twisting vines and arabesque patterns. Still, others are Raj-royalty in style, peacocks and birds flitter in bracelets and around collarbones. Long draping leaves made of gold and semiprecious stones fall in elegant tumbles. Price doesn’t matter here. You can find a sweet piece for $30 or $30,000 and everything in between. I bought a pair of gold-plated earrings in the shape of Mughal lanterns holding deep blue lapis-like stones for $70, not cheap by Indian standards, but magical and distinctive by mine.
Vintage and Antiques. Location: Mumbai First of all, Mumbai is huge and we saw just the tip of a small iceberg relative to the size and depth of the city. We stayed in the Colaba neighborhood and mostly, walked. We found a small shop near the Taj hotel in Mumbai which did not have a name on the shop but did have a security guard. I’m fairly sure offered vintage jewelry, but this is the jewelry capital so they may have been reproductions too.
We settled into their sofas and out came sets: matching diamond, pearl, ruby and sapphire earrings, necklaces and bracelets sitting prettily in their 1950’s-style silk-lined boxes. The shopkeeper explained that his wares were purchases he made from Indian royal families who had their last grand gasp in the 1950’s, 60’s and 70’s. The sons and daughters no longer wanted the dated styles, which were quite royal but frankly, matronly. Still, there’s nothing like trying on a scarf made of rubies or a necklace and earring set made of massive South Sea pearls and Columbian emeralds. Victorian necklaces made of cornflower blue sapphires and Elizabeth Taylor-style facetted diamond earrings can also be found.
I asked how I might verify the gemstone weight, color, and chemical authenticity. He didn’t answer me directly.
“Fred Leighton is one of our biggest clients!” He said with shock, implying I had insulted his integrity.
In short, I would not be allowed to have a gemologist verify anything.
This is one of the problems of buying almost anything in India. Everyone has a great story to tell, but often that story is only true for the moment. When it comes to gemstones, you have to know what you are buying. In Jaipur, I saw aquamarines that were beautiful but downtown Los Angeles’ jewelry district had the same thing, for a third less. Not true of the dazzling opals I saw. They were pricier than their LA counterparts but I had never seen white opals fire like those.
Street shopping. Location: Colaba Causeway in Mumbai. Old Delhi. Alley bazaars in Jaipur. Along cobblestone roads in Udaipur. Beaded sandals for $4. Earrings for $2. Bangles for a dollar. When I want to know what something is worth at its most basic level, I head to the street. For the first half hour, at least, I touch for weight, I examine for details, and I ask, “How much?” Over and over and over. After I get a baseline, I ask questions about the materials and the details. I’ll trust more when someone comes clean about plastic versus real stone or lacquer.
When I like something I’ll ask more questions, not just to know about the object but about the seller. How much does he know about the topic (it’s always a “he” in India)? How much is he stretching the truth? After five of the same conversations, differences are revealed. A little more sense of what I “should” pay comes into clarity and then I can buy. And yes, I do bargain for 50 cents, but not for long. Negotiation is part of the culture and there’s always room to move a little.
Custom Made Clothing. Bill Clinton came to Delhi with his heart set on looking fine. That’s not surprising, of course. His mojo came from a custom clothing shop called Grover Tailors. The shop is in a mini-mall with the kind of shops that belong next to a bakery which serves gluten-free muffins. I resist the muffin. I order the Masala Chai and wait for Harry.
We scan the wall of fabrics, woolens, herringbones, pinstripes, silks with florals and paisleys, cottons and linens. Harry wants custom shirts. I know he doesn’t want the boring normal colors, like white, grays and blues. Pink and orange bolts come down from the wall. I redirect. I pull down the cotton bolts with flowers, the patterns with dots, and the geometrics. Yeah, I know they are meant for the women. His large frame will hold the pattern well if the tailoring is right.
Before Harry is finished signing the credit card slip, the tailors cut into the swaths. Eight hours later we get a call at the hotel. Seven perfectly tailored shirts, wrapped in plastic arrive in our hotel room. The next day Harry wears his new floral shirt proudly. Collar notched. Seams tight. Cut polished. Heads turn in the elevator. Lookin’ fine. (He gets a custom jacket in Udiapur too).
Textiles
No matter where they are and what they are doing, Indian women look hot. I don’t mean sexy. I mean hot colors. No pastels need apply. Go bold or go home. Jewel-tone magenta is the new black. Wait… There is no black. This is a culture where dressing for success means wearing any color that’s NOT black, navy, gray, white or taupe. Taupe is for tourists. It’s common to see women working construction wearing bright pink, flaming orange or sizzling yellow saris.
There’s no disguising being a tourist. First of all, I was usually wearing black, white or taupe. even en wearing a fanciful block print I stood out. Shopkeepers called out to me in various languages, “Hola! Bonjour, madame!” hoping I would turn my head.
This meant our hotels and guidebooks suggested we shop at “approved” stores like a chain called Cottage Industries. There’s one in every city or something just like it. If you hire a guide there’s no question you will land in one of these stores. This is where all the categories of goods can come together in one place, perfectly suited for tourists who have little more than a day to sightsee and shop.
The bigger ones have a rug section, with artisans weaving their wares in front. Block print demonstrations take place in another section. Whole walls are covered with silks and pashminas in plastic sleeves. Experts stand ready to help understand everything you ever need to know in order to spend money.
I’m not knocking these shops. I learned a lot talking to the salespeople and in a couple of cases, we purchased but this is high pressure selling with some excellent storytelling.
In Pushkar, we found Rajasthani patchwork blanket/rug dotted with brocades and rhinestones which reminded me of Klimt’s elaborate gilt backgrounds. It must have taken a small village at least a week to make.
“We make these for Dolce and Gabbana,” he said.
Unfortunately, I know too much. Uhm. Not true. It’s not close to a Dolce and Gabbana finished product even though it’s beautiful
“We make these for Hermes,” he said showing me a large blanket.
The “Hermes” blanket was a silky and luscious, woven with turquoise birds on a navy background. Was it wool? Cashmere? Silk? I have no idea but it was huge, soft and made me salivate. It was clearly not Hermes, though.
It didn’t matter what I said about authenticity. He knew I knew. And I knew he knew I knew. He gave me a price and I looked at him like he was crazy. I was not acting.
I told him I’d give him cash if I could have the blanket and the beaded rug for a third of what he quoted. After ten minutes we met closer to my number than his.
I bought the patchwork brocade rug for $100 and the Hermes for $130. That was about what I would have paid on the streets, I figure.
The great thing about these warehouse tourist shops is that their stuff is pretty good quality. Could I have gotten the rugs and blanket cheaper? Probably. But did I want to? No. I wanted to see India, not just shop it.
Gandhi’s first rallying cry was to remind the Indian people of their roots, making cotton. The first textile trade started in India 8000 years ago and even now, 10% of all of the cotton in the country is made by hand, employing millions of people.
Block printing and indigo is another hand wrought tradition. We traveled to the little dusty town of Bagru to see makers at work: stewing underground pits of indigo and laying out ten-yard flats to dry, and my favorite, hand printing intricate graphic or floral patterns using carved blocks of teak and walnut.
Companies from around the world engage these artisan companies to make their own patterns. John Robshaw bedding, J Crew summer collections, Tory Burch and more come to places like Bagru and Jaipur to adapt Indian designs and colors for our Western tastes.
In Jaipur, we went to Anokhi, the company responsible for India’s block print revival 15 years ago. The shop, adjacent to a delicious organic restaurant reminiscent of a Santa Monica cafe, feels like a blend between Anthropologie and Pottery Barn. Clean, bright and very shoppable.
Tops are about $20-40. Tablecloths about $50. The colors and prints are modern, bright and fun, perfect for your next pool day. Locals and tourists shop it alike, much like another store called FabIndia. Prices are fair and not negotiable.
I also wanted bolts of fabric so I too could be my own Tory Burch. For that, we found a back alley warehouse near the Samode Haveli hotel. Three floors of textiles were piled up in massive lumps. Rugs, tote bags, linen tops, blankets, pashminas. The experience reminded me of my local fabric wholesale district, a chaotic mishmash made for those who were willing to be patient to feed their need for a bargain. We shopped alongside Brits and French shopkeepers importing their wares back home. I left with a tightly packed bag of fabrics all $2-3 per yard, feeling shoppers’ bargain high.
Pashminas
It’s nearly impossible to leave India without a pashmina. It’s like trying to leave Canada without maple syrup or Mexico without tequila (or is that just me?)
A pashmina is a wrap, like a fine gauze-like shawl or a more substantial scarf made from the hair of the cashmere goat. A “real” pashmina is 100% cashmere, very warm but also silky, with a flowy soft drape.
On the street, they run as low as $5-20 but these are usually synthetic or wool. For a 50-50 silk-wool combination, you jump to $20-40. For a silk-cashmere combination, the average price is about $60-80. For machine embroidery, add another 20-30%. For hand embroidery, it’s more. When you are talking 100% cashmere, the price jumps over the $150 mark, with size, softness and the quality of the weave making the difference.
The difference is in the touch. You will feel the difference in the weight, softness, and texture of each price point. Every place you go will have different colors, different thickness, embroidery, etc. It’s better to get to know which “feel” you like before you price compare. Don’t pay more if everything street quality feels just fine.
Luxe lovers will want more, and guess what? The billionaire economy delivers. If a cashmere pashmina is fine, a shahtoush pashmina is so fine, it’s literally illegal.
Shahtoush is made only from the delicate fine hair found on the underside of baby antelope’s chin, high in the mountains of Kashmir. Rare, soft and beyond luxurious, it’s the only thing a woman in Delhi yearns for except…they are illegal today.
The only shahtoush you’ll find is an old one, vintage, I’m told, and even those are illegal. The closest thing you’ll get is a shahmina, a mixture of the delicate antelope fur mixed with the pashmina cashmere. Only the highest level stores carry these rarified wraps.
At least that’s what Majtaba Shah, owner of Sozy by Mujtaba Shah, tells me as he presents me with a shamina and a different extraordinary wrap, a 400 year old finely embroidered paisley tapestry once owned by a royal family. The needlework speaks of time. This must have taken years to make. Mujtaba nods in agreement. He unfurls another and another. This is a slice of textile heaven, at a price. Vintage pieces start around $35,000. His off the rack styles start at $150. My hands are happy just wandering over the patterns. Are they truly antique? Maybe. If so, they are in fantastic condition. If not, they are ridiculously beautiful nonetheless.
In India, facts are simply suggested possibilities.
Everywhere I go after my meeting with Mujitaba I ask about shatoush wraps on the off chance that someone may be hiding some in their back inventory. Most wave me away, telling me they are illegal.
Finally, at our last stop in Udiapur, I meet Raj.
With a wink and a knowing nod, he acknowledges, indeed, shatoushes are illegal.
“But that’s only in India. To see a true shatoush, you come to me. I’m from Kashmir,” he tells me proudly. “Do you know where every true pashmina comes from? My country. Kashmir. And we are not in India.”
I smile. That’s true, I think, unless you talk to someone from India.
He gives me his card and he makes me promise, one day, to find my way to his homeland. Because even though India is one country, it is a place where every region has a voice so distinct, you have to feel it to believe it.
Other things to buy in India: Macrona marble, the same marble found at the Taj Mahal. Marble inlaid with semi-precious stones. Teas and spices, especially in Kerala. Anything related to the Hindu gods. Silk pajamas and robes. Hand pressed paper. Custom clothing of all kinds. Bollywood movies. Indian musical instruments. And so, so, so much more.
Half of my Indian wardrobe was purchased in J. Crew. All of it has graphic, bold
In a small town 45 minutes outside of Bagru, vats of dark juice
For extraordinary vintage quality, we went to a shop in Delhi, Sozy I can’t tell you whether these were really embroidered textiles from the Raj’s collections. And I can’t tell you if it’s even legal to sell real antiques from the royal houses. As you’ll learn if you visit India, no one follows any rules so everything is a bit of a dazzling crapshoot. I can tell you the textiles were stunning. They must have weighed thirty pounds, so deeply
Then, there’s the shatoush.
and wanted raw fabric, not the pre-made tunics and scarves.
Some shops are more clever and call themselves the wholesalers for the best European brands.
Cottage Industries and tourist Shops. Everywhere.
Come well-hydrated and well-fed so as not to get overwhelmed in the hustle. Street shopping takes stamina and a few cups of strong Masala Chai doesn’t hurt.
The textiles are equally luscious, both for men and women.
Next door was a pop-up of one of India’s most famous wedding designers, sort of Vivian Westwood meets Indian couture. Splashy colors and a touch of cleavage (which you never see in India) were the most Western we saw.
You also can’t go wrong at Amarapali, which has locations all over India. Costume earrings start at around $30 and the real stuff will run your well into 10, 20, or 50,000.
Jewelry: Low
Pashminas: High, Middle and Low
Blockprinting and Indigo
Textiles
Spices and Tea
Jaipur cuts the majority of world’s tanzanite, morganite, rubies, and sapphires. The country used to be one of the biggest suppliers of colored stones but for the most part, the mines have closed.
, which are unfaceted but nonetheless capture a
India has always been a country with a n the 1600, Shah Jahan (who built the Taj Mahal) was worth ten times that of his contemporary Louis XIV in France. Gemstones poured into his coffers from around the country.
Food is another item worth packing in my suitcase. When travel restrictions were lighter, I used to buy local honey (carefully packed) because nothing tastes like a place more than honey. Spices are similar. No matter how much the packaging tells me it’s imported, the freshness must not live long. Or maybe my tastebuds crave their own memories. In any case, I
Spices and Tea
You can buy spices and tea in every city, but the source of many familiar flavors is in the south. Munnar, in the interior region of Kerala is where the British founded their pastoral tea plantations and agriculture still thrives today. Cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, and a spice I had never heard of Aseofoteda,
Jewelry
In India, this is no brainer. In some foreign countries, it’s hard to imagine how a drastically different cultural style will translate into my life. India was easy. I’ve long been a fan of Indian-made goods like John Robshaw’s blockprint textiles or J Crew’s embroidered summer tunics. I brought an empty extra duffle bag with the sole purpose of bringing back stuff I imagined would be a fraction of their cost in the United States.
You probably know I like to shop. That doesn’t mean I buy a lot. Shopping, especially while traveling, to me, is part of an art form that melds education, a bit of
of understanding a question few people ask, “Is this thing worth the money?”
Everyone has a different reason why money should or shouldn’t be spent and plenty of people in my life think I’ve often been profligate or unwise but at least, I’ve thought about the exchange
Anyone who knows me, knows I like to shop. Shopping doesn’t necessarily mean buying. I’m not the best buyer. Shop owners initially may think all my questions about quality, quantity and history mean I’m going to max out my credit card limit. There’s a tell-tale moment when
if you are the shop owner. I consider it a form of education.
I consider my penchant for shopping gene as a primordial trait. While my more aggressive counterparts would have been stalking prey, my tribe would have been trekking to the outskirts of the forests, comparing the virtues of berries from a variety of trees and elevations, seeking out the ones with the best yield per picking hour, sampling sweetness along the way, choosing some sour fruit for variety, then returning to our village with an abundance of well-curated booty.
the top of the gathering food chain.
Shopping is not necessarily buying.
Cecilia Najar 