Words of advice to an early shopper in India

TODAY, MY SHOULDER bag broke suddenly whilst on my way to Calcutta’s New Market – one of my favourite shopping districts. Humayun Place, which leads from Chowringhee to one side of New Market, is lined with pavement vendors. We stopped at one selling bags, and asked to see one that I hoped might be a suitable replacement for the bag whose strap had just broken.

Inside New Market in Calcutta

The bag was ‘ok’ but not ideal. We asked the price, and were quoted 950 rupees (about £9.50). We told the seller that seemed too much for such a bag. We told him that we had paid about 500 for the old bag less than a year ago. Hearing that, he said we could have it for 500, and as he spoke those words, he put it into a plastic carrier bag.

I was still not sure that this was the ideal replacement, and we began to walk away. The seller then offered us the bag for 400, saying that if we bought it would be his ‘bohni’ for the day. Hearing that and feeling that the bag was worth 400, we purchased it.

In India (and Pakistan), the custom of bohni is commonly observed. The bohni is the vendor’s first sale of the day (or at the start of some other defined period of time). Many shopkeepers believe that the bohni establishes the success of his or her business during the rest of the day.

So, one of the risks faced by those who shop soon after the stores or stalls open is they will be made to feel that they ought to buy something in order not to jeopardise the vendor’s success during the rest of the day. For, being the first to enter a shop or halt at a stall without purchasing a bohni is a bad omen for sellers.

Although I am sure most vendors who tell you that by making a purchase you are doing the bohni for the day are bona fide, there must be a few who try to achieve a sale by saying it is the bohni when it is not.

African meeting

Timewarp_500

All of the relatives in my parents’ generation were born in South Africa. Some might say that they were ‘Africans’ although many Africans might not agree. One of these always arrived at our house at least an hour before we had invited him, and another usually did not arrive until one hour after we had invited him. My parents, on the other hand, were sticklers for punctuality.

For several years, I worked in a dental practice, which might have well been described as the “United Nation of bad teeth.” My patients had originated from all over the world. They came from, for example: Brazil, Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia, the West Indies, Spain, Portugal, tropical and southern Africa, the former Yugoslavia, India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Ireland, and a few from the UK. Few of them appreciated the importance of punctuality.

We operated an appointment system in the practice. Patients booked specific times on particular days for their chance to visit me or one of my colleagues. Most of them either turned up at the wrong time or not at all. Consequently, my days were broken up into periods of frenetic activity separated by periods of inactivity, plenty of time to read a book.

One afternoon, a Tunisian gentleman turned up for his appointment at the right time on the correct day. I was so surprised that I said to him:

“How nice. You’ve come on time. Most of my other patients are not as courteous as you. They come whenever they feel like it, if at all.”

The patient listened, removed his coat, sat in my dental chair, and then said:

“Yes, that what we call in French ‘rendez-vous africaine’”

Somehow, after hearing that, my patients’ erratic attendance and timing began to make sense with me, and no longer bothered me. It also chimed with the erratic timings of some of my South African relatives.