Dont be silly, it was just a visit to Nalli

Last Friday (10th Sep.), my parents dragged me along to a place created solely for the purpose of punishing mankind. And by mankind, I am not talking about the human race per se. I am referring strictly to the "man"kind. If you are still not clear what I mean, I can bet that you are either a woman or you are a man still reeling under the impact of a recent visit to Nalli.

And just in case the owners of Nalli happen to chance upon this blog and find it offensive, let me clarify that by saying Nalli, I refer to all these textile shops, a.k.a "javulli kadai" in local parlance. You can clearly see that, thanks to my visit to Nalli, my cognitive abilities have been compromised and now, instead of being sued by one shop, the whole of T. Nagar is going to be up in arms against me.

I was made to visit this shop because (a) we wanted to kill some time before heading out to a matrimonial registration office and (b) my mother had to buy some sarees. For those of you who have not visited Nalli during the off-season, please be advised that it is ridiculous to think that the shop is crowded only during on-season. The difference between off-season and on-season is simple - during the latter, there are 4 ladies trying to get hold of the same saree whereas during the former, only 3 are competing for the same item. The other main contributor to this is that the off-season lasts for probably 5 hours during the month of Purattaasi.

As we entered the great Nalli shop opposite Panagal Park, we were first presented with the "Parking Full" signboard at the gate. Like most normal people, I assumed that the parking lot was indeed full and more than the assumption, it was a valid excuse for me to swing away from the shop. However, I didn't realize that there was a Nalli specialist inside the car - my mother.

She just told me to proceed through the gate and drop them off there. Her reasoning was that they always put up that board too drive away someone who is trying to simply use their parking space. I proceeded to follow her instructions and stopped the car after entering the gates. While my parents were getting down, I was slightly distracted by a girl in a Pink salwar and had become deaf to whatever the Security guard was telling me.

After a couple of "Saar....Saar" sounds that initially appeared to come from a distant planet, I realized that someone was actually addressing me. It was the Security guard who simply asked me to try my luck in their parking lot that was at the back of their shop. I moved my car reluctantly, though in hindsight, am not sure if the reluctance was because I was moving away from what looked to be a promising sight or if it was because there seemed to be no escaping the Nalli visit.

I was then guided by some parking attendants, dressed as security guards though, to a vacant spot somewhere in the extremities of the shop. I walked back to the shop to find my parents waiting at the entrance and we proceeded to make a verb of that noun.

Once inside the shop, we were greeted with the quintessential montage of Nalli - light brown lighting interspersed with bright yellow focus lights, people of all shapes in groups of varied sizes, awesome Air-conditioning and sad men. But not all men were sad. While a significant number of men in the shop were sad, quite a few of the lucky ones were rushing to pay their obeisance to the shop so that they could get out and the rest were in a state as being somewhere between unconsciousness and deep sleep.

And then of course, were the male employees who, in the eyes of a raging teenager, may have the world's best job, but who in those same eyes some 5 years later, become an extremely pitiable species.

My mother actually made some real quick selection of sarees, once she reached her desired "section" - the section being "Bengal Cotton". I did my best to not participate in the whole selection process, but she insisted that I pick something. And I quite literally picked up the one at the top of the pile on display. She liked the color and the design and I thought I could now escape further participation by virtue of having selected one. However, she was so impressed with my selection, that she asked to select the next one too.

Grudgingly, I did pick one more and declared clearly that I wouldn't be selecting any more. Then came the whole "blouse matching" episode. This activity is precisely what the learned folks once said, "You cant fix a square hole in a round peg" or something to that effect. That is because, the whole effort is now to match the colors made using completely different set of pigments, using completely different set of procedures and finally ending up on a completely different material.

But the deed had to be done and it was done. However, I stayed away from doing actual work and tried to take some much rest by sitting on the mini cane chairs placed in the middle of the floor. I must add that the placement was quite strategic in that while you are seated, you get the impression that you are actually resting, but it is still close enough for the person doing the matching work to be able to constantly bombard you with questions around how good the match is.

Anyways, my mother was done with most of her selection and my father then goaded her into buying one more saree. She now decided to go to some other section and I was then given the enviable task of carrying the already selected items and placing them near one of the billing counters. Turns out, that shops like Nalli, actually have a dedicated "Credit Card Counter" and so, I went to place the items on that table. But I was a bit skeptical that someone else may actually bill those items and take them along. Even as I was standing there contemplating this possibility, a helpful Nalli representative approached me. He would have seen similar facial expressions on the numerous children who I am sure, get lost routinely at that shop. When I told him about my confusion, he asked me as to why would someone pay for someone else's purchase.

I thought that maybe there's a shopper's code of integrity or some such thing, whereby once items reach the billing counter, others would not try to poach on them. I then proceeded to join my mother and once again, I helped her in picking up another saree. Then the whole "matching" process started and this time, we were directed to some other section of the shop which was at the third floor of their annexe building which had an entry from the main store itself.

After winding through some stairs and floors, we finally completed the task at this new section and started our return trip to the aforementioned "Credit Card Counter". En route, I saw the same pink salwar girl I mentioned earlier in this narrative. I then recognized her as the Vijay TV compere, Ramya. This Ramya, from whatever little I have seen on TV, was quite plump, but in person, was not so. I tried pointing her to my mother, but by the time she understood what I was trying to say, the celebrity had gone off somewhere in the maze.

We went on to the billing process, where there was the usual "might is right" pushing and shoving by everyone to get their billing done first. I finally got mine done after signing the credit transaction slips and also the merchant copy of the invoice! I was afraid that the guy manning the counter may ask me to sign some ledger, but thankfully, he didn't

Our goods were then packed in the traditional Nalli method of first putting them in a brown bag and sealing it with a paper tape. That method to tape the brown bag, used to amaze me as a kid and was probably the only good memory I have of that shop. I think you know what I am talking about - a small roller which holds the paper tape with "Nalli" printed on it at regular intervals. The tape is then rolled out and some part of it is made to go through a small wet roller and is then cut to a small strip size. This strip is then pasted on the brown bag as a seal. Simple stuff, but very impressive for a child!

Like they say, "All good things must come to an end" and I would further extend it and say that "All bad things also come to an end". Once we collected our bags and headed out through the blast of cold air that Nalli provides at its main entrance, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. Never before (and never again I hope) had the hot and humid weather of Chennai and the madness called Panagal Park and T. Nagar, felt more appealing, than at that moment.

For a more awesome report on a visit to Nalli, please read this.