Shirt shopping India style

Ahmed and I on the rooftop viewing platform of his families shop, with the Madurai Temple as a backdrop.


Prior to catching our night train, my roommate Ross and I went out with the intent of window shopping around Madurai's famous tailor markets.

We never made it, because as soon as we stepped out the door of our hotel, we found ourselves in the web of a charismatic, fast-talking tailor who wanted to show us his shirt shop. In a passionate plea he told us about his family history in the business, and ensured us his shop was right across the street, so he wouldn't take us out of our way.  We decided we could take a look and as we walked, he waved his hand saying the shop was 'right here.' We told him great and we wanted to stop in the neighboring shop as well, which he was happy to let us do.

We walked into a shop, and were greeted by yet another friendly salesman. He led us to the section of the shop with shirts our size and we began browsing, but everything was wrapped in plastic and we didn't want to start tearing them open and committing to a purchase. Our salesman took the initiative and pulled one out of the plastic and held the top up to my shoulder and pulled the bottom down and tapped my groin saying "Right size, right size." I was a little shocked but took it as a tailor thing, acknowledged the proper size and moved on. He then noted my friend Ross' nose ring and introduced himself to Ross, limp wristed and giggly... this was not a tailor thing. Next, he squeezed my arm while I was looking at another shirt and that marked time to move on and we headed for the door.

Our tailor friend was waiting outside with a charismatic smile, ready to bring us to his shop. Instead of going into a neighboring shop like we expected, he continued to lead us down the block still saying it was 'right here.' Finally, about a block further down the road we arrived at a door that actually led into a narrow hall lined with shops and dimly lit for what was sure to be our abduction and sale into human trafficking. Much to our relief, we were never bagged and gagged, but our wallets were ransomed for our freedom.

He sat us down at his shop, which consisted of a counter in front of a closet size room with enough room behind the counter for him to stand between the wall of shelves filled with fabrics behind him. At the end of the counter in the far corner of the 'closet' sat a sewing machine and several 'tailors,' old heavyset men with yesterday's five o'clock shadow and a look that suggested they had been beaten by the heat, cramped space and lack luster sales.  In front of the counter, we sat on two stools that hung out into the narrow hall and the other merchants and customers were observing the deal as it went down, surely in awe of this man's skill of luring tourist into his shop. Despite the fact that we entered the situation with no intent to buy, we now were in too deep, he was pushing the sale with passion and zeal and tent revival evangelist, and we were unable to muster the strength to turn it down or even to barter. We left paying about 500 rupees a shirt, about double a decent rate, and then got suckered into the next most popular scam in town.

Our new friend, now happy with his sale, wanted to 'thank us' by showing us a 'special' view of the temple, from a 'government building,' which at other times he called a bank. He explained in vague terms the importance of the momentous timing of our viewing and hustled us down the road. Having read about the scams to get you into shops with promises of panoramas, and Ross having already been pulled into one, we asked specifically if it was a shop. "No, no, government building" was the insistent reply.

We arrived, disappointed, at a shop to be handed off to the next contestant in the 'Scam a Tourist' fiasco. We reluctantly entered and hustled through the shop, past the salesmen without making eye contact, and stated the fact that we had said we didn't want to go to a shop, hoping the shop owners would here us and let us go easy. We continued straight through the shop without resistance, hit the stairs and charged for the roof to see this momentous event we had been promised. A salesman followed and waited in the corner of the 'viewing platform.' 

The view was less than spectacular and we noted the fact that the trees were already blocking the view and in a few years he'd be out of business.  He acknowledged with a smile, and said they had tried to cut them down, but they where not allowed.  He went on to explain that another viewpoint was about to open at the opposite end of the temple square and would likely put them out of business all together.

It was refreshing to just shoot the breeze with someone, without a turn to the sale, so we continued to chat about his life, business and anything else under the fading sun. Ahmed was from Kashmir, and did a good job of selling it as the next destination we needed to book. He also talked about how the rick shaw drivers and other business men benefit from bringing people to his shop, from both him and the temple. Ahmed said his shop gave gifts and monetary assistance to families and kids for bring in customers. And, to our benefit, he said our tailor was 'the best' at bringing people into the shop.

We would have stayed longer to talk with Ahmed, but needed to get back and meet our group for check out and dinner before heading for the train station. We bid him farewell and he led us back downstairs. As we passed the second floor he turned to us with a grin and said, "I'm sure you don't want to stop to look at the rugs." We agreed with a chuckle, and continued down the stairs. Before we left he said, "Perhaps you and your group could return later, even if it is just for tea." The whole experience was such a refreshing change of pace from the constant sales pitch that it would have been nice to return for tea, but we didn't have the time.

After returning to the hotel to meet our group, we headed out for dinner.  We ate at a roof top restaurant with a great view of the temple towers rising into the dusk lit sky. With their scaffolding of wood and banana leaves, which has probably been used for thousands of years, they looked like a piece of the past rising up from the present. A piece of old India among a modern concrete jungle filled with neon signs, bustling traffic and a people torn between the two worlds. Their culture steeped in a long history of Hinduism, crashing headlong into the global cyber present, where call centers and fast food chains connect them to the western world that is rapidly encroaching on the local traditions.