Ode to My Little Corner-Store Man

Shopping in this neighborhood routinely involves no fewer than five stores just to meet daily needs.  There is the fruit stand, right across from the vegetable stand, then the sweet stand down the street, and the dairy stand, and finally the corner store for everything else.  After getting dropped off at the end of my workday, I have a pretty set routine for gathering supplies, and the shopkeepers are getting to know me by now.  (How many other blondes come by asking for paneer?)  So, let me tell you about my little corner-store man.

When I first walked into his shop, all I wanted was some bread and some frickin' water.  I use the term "walked into" very loosely, of course, because his shop barely fits himself, a counter full of candy, a cooler for drinks and yogurt, and the five or six various members of his family who always seem to be hanging out with him.  My corner-store man doesn't speak much English, and at the time I knew NO Hindi, so we communicated by gestures and shrugs.  Eventually I plopped my bread, a bottle, and a few more impulse picks onto the counter, looking around to make sure there was nothing I'd missed.

He saw me browsing and immediately launched in.  "Soap?" he suggested.

"Yeah, actually..."  I glanced at where he was pointing.  "Dish soap?"

He got some down.  "Shampoo?" he asked, pointing to something else.

"Well, I don't know if I need that..."

"Candy?"  Pointing to the Cadbury.

"Hmm.... Mayyyybeeeee...."

"Shoes?"  He pulled out a business card, placed it in my hand, then pointed to a picture of himself and another gentleman taped to the counter. The card was for a shoe shop in Paharganj. "My brother."

"Sure, maybe I'll stop by," I promised, thinking, What?


Now, it's a regular routine.  Whenever I come in, he tells a helper to get me bread, dahi, and then suggests at least four or five other things I could buy at that given moment.  Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't.  (Usually I don't--there's only so many times you need to buy dish soap when you don't have a kitchen.)  He gives me Cadbury Eclairs as change instead of Rupee coins.  When I come in without wanting a certain item, like if I already have enough dahi for the week, he always looks sort of confused--even if I had bought the same item from him yesterday.  I love shopping at this guy's store.  It's one of the little things I do to make myself feel at home.

The reason why my little corner-store man gets a special write-up today is because he's sold me something that eclipses everything I've bought from him before. Behold:  corner store-bought laddoo.

Not just ANY laddoo, though.  What's so special about this box?  Take a closer look at the label.

It's laddoo I can eat!

No more worrying about the suspicious 100-degree temperature inside my local sweet store!  No more ignoring the fact that I just watched them preparing laddoo on the street using bare hands!

It's sad that one or two (or twelve) tummy bugs have reduced me to this, but it proves a point: does my corner-store man know me or what?