The local Indian grocer calls me “madam.” He pronounces it the way the French do, ma dame. He sells tiny zip-locked plastic baggies of cardamom and wildly purple tiny aubergines. Shriveled-looking pomegranates, obviously intended for cooking, inhabit the middle-left produce shelf near the refrigerator full of Indian TV dinners and exotic juices. Against the wall are ghee, coconut milk and spices of every shade; across the room are incense, henna and other non-edibles. He’ll sell you chopped fish frozen in blocks of ice, cheap; product of Indonesia.
Today, three young men jovially burst in and chattered animatedly in what must’ve been Hindi, glancing around the store with casual interest. Suddenly, one of them turned to the seller and asked: “How much for a whole lamb?,” almost immediately adding: “I can see you’re excited, I know – so how much?”
As my debit card transaction was going through, I learned that a 23-24 pound lamb is likely to cost about $85.
Reminds me of my visit to an Indian grocery store two days ago – the sights and sounds and smells and people had a mind-altering effect on me, until, by the time I had left the store, I had a sort of sensory deja vu experience…everything told me that I was back in India, and I had the same sort of buzzing excitement that one gets when a long way from home in a strange land.
I should go to see this store you describe sometime.