Anil

Meet Anil:

He's been quite the constant facet to my shopping woes here in Delhi. His enormous smile and laughter has been a relief to me as I try desperately to find everyone the perfect gift.

I met Anil my first week here. He is a terrific salesman. He suckered me into buying a long, carefully bead-strung necklace. He picked out a perfect one for me with a spectrum of oranges and splashes of green. Only after a long conversation about school and life as a kiddo here, did I melt and give in to his smile. I paid the kid 20 Rs for him to choose a necklace for me, just after making it perfectly clear that I not only didn't require a necklace but I was doing it just because I liked him.

Anil is thirteen years old. I am not sure if he goes to school or not. He says that he does, but I am uncertain how he fits a school day in with his very lucrative traveling necklace shop. Even though he is small (he told me so himself), Anil has a great spirit and attracts pretty much all of the Western suckers like myself. He probably does pretty well for himself and his family with that grin of his... at least I can hope.

The creative genes of the family, so I am told, is his older sister. She is responsible for combining the colors and textures of the glass pieces to finally give rise to the stellar merchandise sold on the streets of Janpath.

One of the last times that I was strolling up and down the market, Anil spotted me, his "friend," and asked if I remembered his name. He promptly shook my hand. Right away it was down to business-- for this is all Anil really knows. Even though he considers to be fond of me, in our interactions he cannot help but try to sucker me out of 20 more rupees. When I explained to him that I didn't have any money, which was partially true-- I had just spent the last of my small change and was only left with a 500 bill-- he, without a flinch, picked up the brightest, most shiny of all the long beads and chucked it across the sidewalk to me. He simply stated, "Okay, this free."

I am not really sure of Anil's actual intention of this gift; perhaps he assumed that I was lying and would get the stinking 20 rupees if he forced the necklace on me-- whatever the case, a gift is a gift? No?

Immediately I began fumbling through my bag until I came up with the only thing of substance, apart from the tens of receipts, silly Indian sunglasses, sunscreen, and used chapstick: a notebook. This notebook, about the size of a checkbook, was given to me as a very special Christmas gift just before I left the States. It was made of wonderful handmade papers and sported the image of a Hindu god inlayed with glued-on jewels and creamy paints. Without much thought, I tossed the notebook in Anil's direction. He caught it and gave me two big eyebrow raises.

Continuing the stroll down the market, Anil called to me to exclaim that he didn't have the notebook. In a very sly stance, he pulled up the side of his shirt, exposing the hidden notebook, gave a little satisfied chuckled, and said that his sister was going to love it.

Last night, I made a special trip to Janpath to get my new little friend what he has really been searching for, a Pepsi and a bag of chips. It was probably the best 40 rupees I have ever spent!