Although we try to be as low-profile as possible, putting up no signs on the road pointing our way or advertising our little shop in any way, word of mouth is a powerful thing; especially because the number of places where you can splurge in Santiniketan has not kept pace with the burgeoning number of tourists or their bulging purses.
So, over the last six years that we have had our little textile and craft shop selling things produced in and around Santiniketan, we have seen our business grow. What was completely unexpected, however, was the number of “boutiques” (how I hate that word) in and around Kolkata that started sourcing from us. Much of this buying takes place through armchair ordering by the boutique owners. Since the boutique owners do not have either the time or the inclination for production, most simply collect their wares from various places and we have, unfortunately, become one such place. The reason I say “unfortunate” would need some explaining.
Ever since we developed on a local weaving tradition and introduced a sari using that style of weaving, we have had many bulk buyers. Since Kolkata is like a little village where everybody who matters knows everybody who does, I also get to know what our bulk buyers are doing more often than not.
Many of them fabricate stories about how they are weaving the saris themselves, and many others actually embellish the saris in their own way, which I find extremely unfortunate. To me, these saris woven with old saris (torn into thin strips and used as weft) have a beauty of their own and I shudder to think of how they would look with strange embroidery done on them or worse still with bling (the current favourite of the masses) added to their otherwise understated chic.
I was completely stumped by what happened recently. One afternoon, just as I was about to start lunch, I got a call from a boutique owner (they are extremely efficient in sourcing my number) asking me for the saris. She asked me to list the colours that we had. I started reasonably pleasantly, although my lunch was waiting, but her questions got more and more absurd. Even after I explained to her that we normally work in primary colours and their combination in the warp and weft, she wanted to know whether we had a light pink or a grey-blue or perhaps a shade of tussar silk? I was running out of patience and finally told her that we did not provide this service: describing every sari on the phone to potential buyers. If she had some specific shades in mind, she would have to come to Santiniketan or send some flunky who knew her mind.
As I sat down for lunch, I knew that my arrogance and not-so-polite behaviour had cost me a customer, but what the hell, I thought. Can’t put up with strange demands to meet sales targets!
I had obviously underestimated the value of our saris. For, a day later, the lady called our shop, thankfully not my mobile, and said somebody would come to pick up the saris and we should put aside a few for her. I was happy that she had indeed heeded my advice. We waited in the evening for the person to turn up. It was Saturday and the crowd in the shop was growing bigger. I kept an eye out for this person.
In the midst of all the women, I suddenly spotted a tall man looking rather lost. I asked him whether I could help. He said he had come to pick up the saris on behalf of the lady who had called us. I asked him to choose. He looked at me irritably and said, in a complete anticlimax, “Just pack four, any colour will do!”
