Deepavali or Divali or the festival of lights is observed by Hindus in recognition of the triumph of good over evil in the seventh month of the Hindu calendar.
The “Ladies Who Lunch” immediately began planning an expedition to Little India to buy saris to wear to the party. I like the idea but I’m also cheap. So, what to do?
I decide to go around the corner to a charity jumble (rummage) sale to see if I can find a sari. “You have to come early to beat the crowd,” I’d been told, so I throw yesterday's duds onto my unwashed body and head out. Lo and behold, there is a sari amongst the other jumbled-up stuff. However it’s clutched firmly in the hands of a lady who has lovingly folded it. (Always a bad sign--I know this after years of hitting flea markets myself.) Nevertheless, I trail a discreet distance behind her, hoping she’ll set it down and let me snatch it up, but of course she doesn’t. She’s clutching that sari to her chest like it was priceless, which to me it is!
Time for drastic action! I take her aside, make meaningful eye contact and explain why I just have to have this garment. I press RM5 into her hand, but money isn’t the issue. Nor is my sob story about why I have to have this particular sari. I want this one, I explain earnestly, because I’m going to a Deepavali party and I don’t have a single sari in my closet to wear. Fancy that! (Being a paragon of cross-cultural sensitivity, I don’t add that, because it’s red and green with gold trim, I’m thinkin’ I can use it as a Xmas table cover.)
Then she takes me even farther aside and says, “I know you!You’re the lady who comes to New Bob Realty on a motorbike. Last time, I was cleaning the ground floor. You smiled at me.” Well, I smile at almost everybody (I’m American!). But this helps my new friend Theresa and me establish the all-important human contact that makes this kind of negotiation both fun and profitable.
Next, her niece is called over to provide translation for what is already a perfectly understandable conversation. (Moral support was more like it.) This gal is turned out impeccably, right down to her light-blue eye shadow and silver bindi that matches her earrings and sandals. (This is at 7:00 on a Saturday morning, mind you!) Suddenly, I’m very aware of not having even brushed my teeth before I dashed out. With her arrival, all the “husbands-in-waiting” start paying very close attention to the goings-on! Teresa’s now hooked into this human drama. She explains that the sari has to be dry cleaned. OK, fine. The niece is now offering to find me a Punjabi suit that would actually fit me. “Yes, I can find one in your size!” I tell them I don’t want one that is precious to anyone because I might drag the sleeve through the curry at the party (and I truly might, accidentally!) Finally, we agree that I need the sari more than Theresa does, even though I have only the vaguest idea how to wear it.
So, now I have my sari for the party and I'm no longer desperate. All I lack now is the knowledge of how to drape it and the courage to actually wear it. But there's time yet to get both. Wish me luck!
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