Travels Through the Land of Scams and Curry - Part 5

It seems impossible that I've been home for a month.  It's certainly been hectic: reuniting with friends and family, seeking work, and just generally getting my life set up here again.  I arrived at the tail end of those perfect New York fall days, when the sky is a piercing blue, the leaves a brilliant red, and the air heavy with the spicy smell of impending chill.  Now the darker, drearier days of pre-winter have begun.  I find myself fantasizing about travel, clinging to lists of dream-like destinations as I plow through the angry masses on the subway. Piecing together the last of my India posts will have to tide me over until I return to my preferred state of wandering once again. 

10.14.14

Jodhpur continued: Tales of tea with the Spice Girls

Let me start out by saying that I do not understand the role of women in Indian society.  I’m trying to understand it, but I have a long way to go. It is amazing to me that a country which elected a female president back in the 80’s could still respond with such aggressiveness to women who work everyday jobs.  Or that while women seem to wield moral authority, they are still subject to their husbands whims when seeking work outside the home.  Of course, this relates to the larger conservative bent of India in general, which I also find mystifying.  Dating is still unusual, from what I understand.  Local authorities follow up on reports of unmarried couples staying together in hotels (and things get even more serious when it’s a foreign/Indian couple.) I love India, but I’m glad I didn’t grow up female here (not to say that the US doesn’t have some supremely messed up, misogynistic views about women, because it most certainly does).  It’s possible to break out of the mold, but it’s difficult, as evidenced by the Jodhpur Spice Girls.

My pathetic sense of direction never even had a chance.

It should be noted that, while my lack of directional sense just gets worse with every new city I visit, it reached its zenith during my visit to Jodhpur.  Yes, those streets are twisty and unmarked, but that still doesn’t excuse the fact that I had to call my guesthouse on two separate occasions and plead for assistance in finding my way back to the building.  On both occasions I was roughly a block away.  In practical terms this means that when I stumble upon an intriguing shop or restaurant I need to go into that place immediately, because odds are I’ll never find it again.  And this is how I made my first visit to MV spices.

The “MV” in MV Spices stands for Mohanlal Verhomal, the man who built the shop up from a small cart in the market to a store with five branches and global reach.  After his untimely death there was debate as to whether or not the Verhomal spice empire would continue.  You see, Mohanlal Verhomal had seven children – all girls.  And apparently girls do not run shops Jodhpur (Jodhpur is a relatively small city and quite traditional, and gender roles are stringently enforced.)   I can’t imagine the difficulty of that time for Verhomal family; they had lost their father, and were in danger of also losing all that he had worked so hard to create.  But rather than abandon the business, the Verhomal women made the unusual decision to run their father’s shops themselves.  And so, his widow and eldest daughters reopened the doors.

It’s hard for me to really grasp what came next.  I grew up in an area of the US in which it was assumed that women would work outside of the home, both out of desire for a career and out of financial necessity. So I have trouble wrapping my head around the constant harassment that the Verhomal women have endured since taking over the shop.  They have been the targets of malicious gossip; they have been verbally harassed by competitors; they have even been threatened with physical violence.  Naturally the corrupt police (whom the Verhomals refuse to pay off) are of no help.  In fact, while I was in one of the shops I witnessed a police officer deliberately park his motorbike in a way that completely hid the store’s signage.  After all, tourists can’t visit a shop they can’t find.  And yet, despite these difficulties, the Verhomal women still run the business with efficiency, wit, and warmth. 

I first visited their location just outside Sadar Market.  I had been a bit sick since my epic train ride to Jaisalmer, so I came in inquiring about a tea intended for colds that was advertised on the front window.  Nikky Verhomal immediately sat me down and ladled a tablespoon of “Winter Tonic” spices into my hand.  I was not accustomed to eating straight spices, but at her insistence I downed the dose (awkwardly spilling a fair amount on my person in the process), and felt relief as the concoction suffused my system.  Moments later I was being offered some of the best chai I tasted throughout my trip.  The ratio of tea to spice to sugar was exemplary.  Next up was the spice-smelling.  These mixtures were so robust that even my subpar sniffer was able to appreciate their brilliance.  I could actually taste the potato masala, could savor it rolling over my taste buds.  A mere whiff of the mutton curry was almost as satisfying as an actual meal.  The complexity and vibrancy of each spice was stunning.  Each potent packet was another chapter in the story of civilization.

Teatime with Nikky and Maryse.

One of the things I really loved about the shop was the complete absence of the “hard sell”.  And really, it wasn’t necessary: the spices speak for themselves.  But it was so refreshing that Nikky never pressured me into buying anything, and when I did decide to buy she gave me a fair price.  And all during the spice-athon Nikky gave me further doses of the Winter Tonic.  After I bought all the spice packs I could fit into my small bag (that dragon takes up a lot of room, after all), she filled up a small container with more of the remedy and instructed me to finish it all and come back later for tea.  And off I went to explore the fort.

Naturally, I could not find my way back to the spice shop that day.  In fact, I was lucky I made it to the fort and back at all.  The twisting, sun-soaked lanes wrapped around me, all blue, golden, and impenetrable.  Actually the store was only two blocks from my guesthouse, but since I couldn’t find the guesthouse either there really wasn’t much hope that I would find the shop.  Ah the sorrows of the directionally challenged. Luckily, the following day I found my way to another branch of the shop in Sadar Market.  This one was run by Neelam.   

Neelam, reigning over her spice kingdom.

Neelam, Nikky’s older sister, runs the original MV Spices location in Sadar Market. Naturally my visit once again featured chai, cold remedies, and spice sniffing.  I also received quite an education in the underhanded tactics of the local competitors.  From what I gathered, most of the other spice shops in Jodhpur are run by close relatives of Ali the Evil Agra Rickshaw Driver (perhaps not brothers by blood, but definitely brothers in scamming).  After Mohanlal Verhomal died, many of his competitors lured tourists to their shops by claiming to be Verhomal’s brother and spice heir.  And of course most of these shops also have names like “MG Spices”, just to add to the tourist confusion. And tourist confusion is in no short supply at Sadar Market.  It’s an Indian sensory assault: glittering bangles sold next to brilliant salwar kameez and cookware; piles of fruits and nuts alongside heaping, open plates of spices and fly-entrancing sweets; and of course, not-so-subtle scammers wandering amidst the cows, elephants, and general chaos, eager to shuttle unsuspecting tourists to the most egregiously priced emporiums.

Chaos.

Pure chaos.

I have no doubt that the local spice frauds doctor a variety of their products with ingredients that have no rightful place in a spice mixture. But the lengths they go to in order to sell fake saffron are particularly incredible.  Sometimes they will add toxic ingredients that increase the weight of the package, thereby allowing them to cheat their customers out of half the intended saffron purchase.  Sometimes they’ll just cut to the chase and, using old newspaper and red dye, fabricate the spice entirely.  Luckily these traps can be avoided if you know what to look for in terms of color and consistency, which, thanks to Neelam, I now do.  Perhaps I can start a sideline career in saffron authenticating.

Once I figured out how to navigate to the spice shops I made a habit of daily visits.  Every new trip involved copious amounts of tea, spice-smelling, snacks and/or cooking.  Of course my time with Nikky and Neelam wasn’t entirely spent on spices – we also talked about their hopes for the future and pains from the past.  Both have had to sacrifice educational goals in order to maintain their father’s business, and while neither one expressed regret, it was clearly a difficult decision to make.  Through them I also learned more about the dynamic of Indian marriages.  I started to get the impression that “arranged marriage” sometimes just means formalized blind dating, rather than a practice in which the bride and groom have no say over their fates.  On the other hand, I also learned more about the unsettling power a husband and his family wield over the bride after the nuptials have taken place.  Of course I approached these conversations under the influence of my own Western views, so it was really eye-opening to see what aspects of the traditional marriage culture Nikky and Neelam were comfortable with, and which ones they resisted. They’re forging their own paths in this area, just as they have in their professional lives, but it’s a fraught balancing act.

As with Jaisalmer, my departure from Jodhpur was bittersweet.  Many people say that one month is not enough time to travel through India, and I think they’re right.  My trip is really only touching on the main tourist highlights; there’s so much more to see.  A return trip seems inevitable.  And yet, there’s no way my next trip can just be focused on covering new ground.  I have had the privilege of meeting such wonderful people in my travels thus far, and any future itinerary must include visits to the friends I’ve made.  These desert locales have captured me, and I want to build on the bonds I’ve made there.  But this current trip has a firm end date, and as such I need to move on: first to Mumbai, and then right on to Goa.  It’s time for Bollywood and beaches.