The Sari Shop Read Online Free PDF

immediately made Ramchand think of his father, and he had decided to see if he remembered any English. He had gone to the same second-hand book dealer and had bought a children’s English book called
The Magic Lime Tree
that was thirty pages long with lots of pictures in it. It had words like hearth, pixie, bashful, wither, wicked and toadstool in it. Ramchand had found it too difficult and had given up. He had given that book to the landlord’s young daughter, who had then sat in the courtyard and coloured in all the pictures in the book. And she had coloured the leaves of the lime tree purple. That was two years back. Since then, he hadn’t read a word or touched a book.
    Mrs Bhandari cleared her throat. Ramchand realized he must have been gawking. He gave Mrs Bhandari an uncertain smile and asked what she’d like to see. He knew that she was intelligent too. He had heard lots of customers mention her, some with admiration, others with malice or envy. But women are women, Ramchand thought. He didn’t really know that, but that was what Gokul always said.
    At least these two were a pleasant change from the wives of rich businessmen who usually patronized the shop.
    The two settled down comfortably facing him and asked to see some silk saris.
    Ramchand suddenly felt very hopeful. They were both learned, talented – they were both woman who were different from the rest. He eagerly took out a few saris and displayed them. ‘See, madam, this is our latest stock. See this plain orange with gold border, this one here is yellow with gold embroidery, and this one…’
    Mrs Sachdeva interrupted him, fixing him with a cold stare. ‘I want some decent colours, not orange and gold and all. Something to wear to college, not to a village fair.’
    Ramchand considered this for a moment, slightly disconcerted by the cold stare. He knew very little about colleges and village fairs, and even less about what women liked to wear to either. He took out another sari.
    ‘Yes, madam, bright red with a black border, madam. Everyone is buying these, madam.’
    His heart slid tearfully into the tip of his toes at the hard looks on their faces.
    ‘Nothing shiny, please,’ put in Mrs Bhandari, scratching her nose with a fingernail painted pale pink. Ramchand, a little crestfallen now, took out a parrot green sari with a gold border. The women exchanged a look, and Ramchand heard Mrs Sachdeva mutter to Mrs Bhandari, ‘You can’t really make these people understand, you know.’
    Ramchand felt the tips of his ears burning. Mrs Bhandari addressed him in her refined voice. ‘Something, you know, well, something more subdued.’
    Ramchand waited uncertainly. He wasn’t sure what she meant. He felt awful.
    ‘Some dullish colour, you know. Like brown or grey,’ said Mrs Sachdeva condescendingly. She liked to look plain and business-like.
She
wasn’t one of the vain, idle housewives that this city was so full of. She was a literate woman, Head of an English Department.
    Ramchand stood up to take some more saris down from the top shelf. He could almost feel their eyes boring into the back of his head, expectant, impatient. He nervously showed them a few more saris. They took one glance at the saris he had spread out before them; Mrs Sachdeva rolled her eyes and sighed. He took down some more, his face red with shame.
    The two exchanged an exasperated glance again. Then theybegan to rummage impatiently through all the saris he had taken down while he brought them more and more. They finally chose a beige sari shot with brown silk thread, and left. Ramchand sat down with his head in his hands.

3
    When the shop finally closed at eight in the evening, Gokul came up to where Ramchand was putting stuff away and said, ‘Come, yaar, let’s all go and eat at Lakhan Singh’s dhaba.’
    ‘Why Gokul Bhaiya, very rich man suddenly?’ Ramchand said, making an effort to smile while he said this.
    Gokul made a disgusted face at this. ‘Arre nahin bhai,