Page 76 - DENG503_INDIAN_WRITINGS_IN_LITERATURE

Indian Writings in Literature

Notes become familiar with the maze-like network of lanes and alleys and short cuts in the old city.
Money, congestion and noise danced an eternal, crazy dance here together, leaving no moving
space for other, gentler things. The actual walls that had once surrounded the city had fallen away
long ago, but the ghosts of the wall still separated the old city from the newer one that flourished
outside. The shop where Ramchand worked was one of the oldest in the city, tucked neatly
between Talwaar Furnishings and Draperies and Chanduram’s Fabrics. It was in one of the main
bazaars, buried away in the heart of the city, yet with parking space for customers who came in
cars. In this bazaar the shops were larger, older, with good reputations and old, regular customers,
and the shop owners were all considered respectable people from old business families.
A large fading green signboard over the entrance of the shop said Sevak Sari House in flourishing
red letters in old-fashioned calligraphy, both in English and Punjabi. The signboard was slightly
misleading. The shop did not just sell saris. The ground floor stocked fabric for men’s clothes as
well. There were dreary browns, blues and blacks here. But very few people visited Sevak Sari
House to buy Men’s Suitings and Shirtings. There were other, larger shops that had a wider range
devoted entirely to men — the Raymond showroom two lanes away, for instance. So the ground
floor of the shop wore a dusty, jaded look. It was the first floor of the shop that sold saris. Packed
from shelf to shelf with crisp Bangladeshi cottons, dazzling Kanjeevarams, Benaras silks, chiffons,
crepes and satins, it was the first floor that pulsated with an intoxicating, rich life of colour and
silk and brought in the customers and profits. And it was because of the huge success of the first
floor that Sevak Sari House had been known for decades as the best sari shop in Amritsar. The
suiting and shirting cut-pieces in the ground floor cowered under the sparkling, confident dazzle
above.
There was also a second floor that customers never saw. It contained a big storeroom and a small
toilet that was used by Mahajan and the shop assistants. Ramchand was one of the six shop
assistants who worked in the sari section. Ramchand stood uncertainly at the entrance of the shop,
his palms cold with sweat despite the chilly December morning, thinking of Mahajan’s rage that
would soon descend on him. Ramchand peered in. Mahajan was talking to somebody over the
phone. Making the best of it, Ramchand sprinted across the ground floor under Mahajan’s
disapproving eyes.
There was a Ganesha idol installed near the foot of the staircase that led up to the first floor.
Ramchand would usually stop before this idol for a moment every morning, with folded hands
and closed eyes, and then after an elaborate bow, would make his way upstairs. But today he just
hurried up the shaky wooden steps as fast as he could. His heart thudded inside his chest. Any
moment now Mahajan would stop him and give him a dressing down. But he climbed up to the
first floor safely. In the small space on top of the staircase, and in the front of the big glass door
that led into the sari section, he tried to get his breath back. Then he struggled with his shoes, first
hopping on one foot and then on the other, trying to get them. His hopping made thumping noises
on the wooden staircase.
And then Mahajan finally bellowed from below. ‘Trying to break the place? Coming late? You
think I don’t notice? Am I blind? Stupid? Hunh? You think a shop can be run like this? You will
come and go as you please? Are you a king or something? Raja Ramchand? Should we send an
entourage and a bagghi to pick you up every day?’ Ramchand stopped immediately and waited.
Silence. Then he cautiously took of his shoes, washing his feet wouldn’t smell so. He had taken a
bath and worn fresh socks, and yet . . . He knew that the smell would become even stronger by the
end of the day. Ramchand arranged his shoes neatly on the wooden shoe rack on the side of the
wall, in the row assigned to the shop assistants. The other rows were for the delicate sandals, the
kolhapuri chappals, the platform and stiletto heels of the female customers. Ramchand patted his

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