Not a souvenir replica, he said. The real deal. I bought the Taj Mahal for $2M. This Japanese tourist we thought was probably off his nutter. But he had indeed paid for the Taj Mahal, only to his despair. Actually, a Japanese speaking, smart witted tout managed to scam the poor guy and made haste.
This story was being told to us at our hotel souvenir shop at the Mughal Sheraton in Agra, while Ashok, who decided to visit me in India, asked about several souvenirs.
How much is this Taj Mahal?, Ashok asked. This one? Yes, said Ashok. It’s $400. Ashok gazed at the Taj Mahal to discern if his accent and designer clothing were working to his disadvantage. Real marble, this! Unbreakable!, shouted the shopkeeper. And he began to pound the miniature Taj Mahal on the stone counter he had.
We honest people, your money goes in preserves of ancient art. We not take advantage like Japanese tourist.
Ashok and I looked at each other. We weren’t convinced. We wanted a bargain on that Taj Mahal and we wanted the price that a local would pay. Discontent with how gullible the hotel souvenir store man had thought us to be, we left.
We hopped in our cab, the one that we had hired for the week, and asked our driver Bhupinder, to find us a place where we wouldn’t have to spend as much. He said, he didn’t know of any particular place, but places away from the hotel could be cheaper.
So off we went, to another souvenir store. And another story awaited us. This guy told us that he was the worldwide #1 supplier of miniature Taj Mahals. His supply chain extended to Patel Brothers in Artesia, CA, where we could take in our Taj Mahal and have it exchanged, serviced or polished at no cost. He even had a service center for such artifacts in Santa Monica.
Intrigued by his mention of such a worldwide network, I asked him where in Santa Monica was this service center he spoke of. In the middle, 3rd Street Pro-mee-ned, he said. Neither Ashok, nor I were going to buy a Taj Mahal from this bugger. His tall claims fell short not only because we knew that no such place could exist in Santa Monica, but also because, his dingy showroom, didn’t represent the prosperity he spoke of.
We decided to leave. Ok, last price, I make loss for you. I give you Taj Mahal for $220. No Thank You, we said, and left. He shouted obscenities in Hindi, assuming that neither of us spoke the language, and chastised our driver for not trying to convince us and working harder for his 30% commission.
When you’ve dealt with such situations more often than you would like, there’s only one thing to do. Call someone in a position of influence. That happened to be my father. One call to him and someone came to our hotel, picked us up and took us to this utterly filthy part of town with very narrow roads and parked the car outside this huge house. We walked in and there were people working on marble everywhere in this big paved courtyard.
Some were carving, some were inlaying precious stones into marble, some were finishing the marble already chiseled and carved. This seemed to be the right place to buy something marble.
How much for that Taj Mahal, Ashok asked. It was much bigger than what he had set his eyes on. He was buoyed by the confidence of being in the presence of someone who would not let him be cheated out of his hard earned money. Its $15, the sirdar (headman,) who ran this operation said.
Our “protocol officer,” as he addressed himself, scowled at the headman. You’re chi-teng this young boys, he said. They’ll give you $8 and take two. The sirdar looked at us, scratched his head, looked at his artisans, and then said $9 for each and you take two. Pratap, our PO, wanted to haggle further, but Ashok and I were convinced that the price of $9 for each mega sized Taj Mahal was a steal, especially since the first price that was quoted to us for a much smaller one was $400.
At last, the Taj Mahal was ours. And we bought a whole bunch of stuff from that place.
And thereafter everytime we saw a gullible tourist being screwed out of his/her money, we smiled at each other. We mumbled “That guy’s being FIPed.” Where FIP = Fucking in Progress, and walked away happy. Afterall, the English looted and pillaged the wealth of India for ages, it’s time for payback, and it’s ultra-sweet when you tell someone on the flight to Jaipur that you paid $9 for a Taj Mahal, on which they spent $400. They just turn red with anger, and then green in envy. Encore, my Indian brothers.
No wonder the Japanese tourist believed that he got the real deal.
Jokes aside, when you’re in the market for a Taj Mahal, send yours truly an email. I have the sirdar’s card, and would love to save your hard earned greenbacks.
This story was being told to us at our hotel souvenir shop at the Mughal Sheraton in Agra, while Ashok, who decided to visit me in India, asked about several souvenirs.
How much is this Taj Mahal?, Ashok asked. This one? Yes, said Ashok. It’s $400. Ashok gazed at the Taj Mahal to discern if his accent and designer clothing were working to his disadvantage. Real marble, this! Unbreakable!, shouted the shopkeeper. And he began to pound the miniature Taj Mahal on the stone counter he had.
We honest people, your money goes in preserves of ancient art. We not take advantage like Japanese tourist.
Ashok and I looked at each other. We weren’t convinced. We wanted a bargain on that Taj Mahal and we wanted the price that a local would pay. Discontent with how gullible the hotel souvenir store man had thought us to be, we left.
We hopped in our cab, the one that we had hired for the week, and asked our driver Bhupinder, to find us a place where we wouldn’t have to spend as much. He said, he didn’t know of any particular place, but places away from the hotel could be cheaper.
So off we went, to another souvenir store. And another story awaited us. This guy told us that he was the worldwide #1 supplier of miniature Taj Mahals. His supply chain extended to Patel Brothers in Artesia, CA, where we could take in our Taj Mahal and have it exchanged, serviced or polished at no cost. He even had a service center for such artifacts in Santa Monica.
Intrigued by his mention of such a worldwide network, I asked him where in Santa Monica was this service center he spoke of. In the middle, 3rd Street Pro-mee-ned, he said. Neither Ashok, nor I were going to buy a Taj Mahal from this bugger. His tall claims fell short not only because we knew that no such place could exist in Santa Monica, but also because, his dingy showroom, didn’t represent the prosperity he spoke of.
We decided to leave. Ok, last price, I make loss for you. I give you Taj Mahal for $220. No Thank You, we said, and left. He shouted obscenities in Hindi, assuming that neither of us spoke the language, and chastised our driver for not trying to convince us and working harder for his 30% commission.
When you’ve dealt with such situations more often than you would like, there’s only one thing to do. Call someone in a position of influence. That happened to be my father. One call to him and someone came to our hotel, picked us up and took us to this utterly filthy part of town with very narrow roads and parked the car outside this huge house. We walked in and there were people working on marble everywhere in this big paved courtyard.
Some were carving, some were inlaying precious stones into marble, some were finishing the marble already chiseled and carved. This seemed to be the right place to buy something marble.
How much for that Taj Mahal, Ashok asked. It was much bigger than what he had set his eyes on. He was buoyed by the confidence of being in the presence of someone who would not let him be cheated out of his hard earned money. Its $15, the sirdar (headman,) who ran this operation said.
Our “protocol officer,” as he addressed himself, scowled at the headman. You’re chi-teng this young boys, he said. They’ll give you $8 and take two. The sirdar looked at us, scratched his head, looked at his artisans, and then said $9 for each and you take two. Pratap, our PO, wanted to haggle further, but Ashok and I were convinced that the price of $9 for each mega sized Taj Mahal was a steal, especially since the first price that was quoted to us for a much smaller one was $400.
At last, the Taj Mahal was ours. And we bought a whole bunch of stuff from that place.
And thereafter everytime we saw a gullible tourist being screwed out of his/her money, we smiled at each other. We mumbled “That guy’s being FIPed.” Where FIP = Fucking in Progress, and walked away happy. Afterall, the English looted and pillaged the wealth of India for ages, it’s time for payback, and it’s ultra-sweet when you tell someone on the flight to Jaipur that you paid $9 for a Taj Mahal, on which they spent $400. They just turn red with anger, and then green in envy. Encore, my Indian brothers.
No wonder the Japanese tourist believed that he got the real deal.
Jokes aside, when you’re in the market for a Taj Mahal, send yours truly an email. I have the sirdar’s card, and would love to save your hard earned greenbacks.
