The 'Spice Girls' of Jodhpur

March 2007

Seems like we spend a lot of our time here at the clock tower market.  Not buying anything, just gawking.  Today we were on a mission though.  We were looking for spices, and were keen to get good ones.  It’s pretty easy to adulterate spices with a range of edible powders, sand or just plain dirt.  Many shops do this, all the while decrying the “absolute purity” and “quality” of their product.  But we'd read in our guidebook that the best place to buy reliably good quality spices, in Jodhpur, was from M.V. Spices.  Our hotel owner, the ever helpful Mr. Govind, also recommended M.V. Spices.  But he warned us that there were many shops that had adopted names and logos similar M.V. Spices, including M.G., M.M. and M.R. Spices.  Mr. Govind had been an acquaintance of the original Mr. M.V., who he clearly respected as an honest businessman.  But Mr. M.V. had died, leaving his wife and seven daughters (and no sons!) behind. The wife and two of the eldest daughters were now running the business.  So he said that we would know if we found the right shop, because there would be a young woman in it who spoke excellent English with a British accent.

But our first stop at the market, as usual, was at the Omelette Man.  A great guy who made a mean omelette.  We'd perch on little stools as he fried them up, to our specifications - onions? yes, tomatoes? yes, cheese? no thanks.  

Across the way from him was a chai shop where the guys ladled steaming cups of chai from a huge kettle.  When we'd go over for our after-omelette chai they'd make a big production out of holding the ladle up high and letting the chai stream into the - small - waiting glass, without spilling a drop, and ensuring the chai was enhanced by the aeration and frothiness of their technique.  It is in fact an old and venerable way of serving chai, but seldom seen these days.  This shop also used glass, rather than paper or plastic cups.  We hoped they were clean.

We asked the chai guys if they knew were M.V. Spices was, and in typical Indian fashion, they swept their arms in a wide circle, indicating the entire market, and said "just over there".  Of course a couple of ever present and always crafty market touts had heard our question, and immediately accosted us with promises that they would take us to “the best spice shop, the one in the Lonely Planet.” They flashed business cards with names like M.G., M.R., and M.M, 

but no M.V.s  We waved them away, knowing full well they'd take us to their uncle's, or brother's, or friend's shop and collect a commission from the owner for having delivered customers to his door.  We later learned that no touts would take us to M.V. Spices because the women who run that shop refuse to encourage the touts by paying them the extortionate commissions they demand.  Touts are a serious problem in many parts of India, where the business is associated with Mafia-like undercurrents, including all manner of threats against non-compliant shop-keepers.

 

So it took us a while, snaking our way through the narrow pathways between market shops and stalls, but we finally came across M.V. Spices.   It was here that we met, and were served by “the M.V. Spice Girl.”  She's a 24-year-old modern, well-educated and aware young woman (itself unusual in India) struggling to run a business in a traditional India market place (ie. male dominated to the point of marked discrimination against women, corrupt business practices, deceitful employees, etc.).  She asked how we had come to find her shop, and when we told her that our hotel manager had recommended her shop, she said that she could guess who that was, as there were only two men in all of Jodhpur who were willing to work with women.  With that she mentioned two names, one of which was our hotel owner, Mr. Govind.  

 Doug and Mr. Govind, our hotel owner

She said that in India men will not shake hands with women, so it is difficult for her to transact any business as there is no means of signifying agreement.  Furthermore, a father’s, brother’s or husband’s assent is required, or more importantly thought to be required, in so many situations that it takes her and her mother much longer to get anything accomplished because of the many roadblocks put in their way by male bank managers, male building owners, male delivery men, male workers and male touts.  Despite all of this, the spice girl was managing to maintain her femininity, although she did not wear a sari, and her poise, laughing and smiling even as she was detailing her trials and tribulations.

 

A different all girl family

We chatted with her for some time about her business, her personal life, and the problems endemic to India.  She desperately wants to leave India, but as one of the three bread-winners in a household of nine women, she knows she is trapped.  She and her younger sisters need to be housed and fed, and she wants to make sure that they receive good educations, which in India requires that they attend schools with moderate to high tuition fees.  

Despite her antipathy towards the tradition of arranged marriages, and her hope that she and her sisters will be able to choose whom they wish to marry, she knows that all of the girls will also still require dowries.  These can amount to really quite fantastic sums of money - up to $5000 - $10,000 - an absolute fortune for anyone here, and ruinous for many many families with only one daughter whose husband must be “purchased.”  She sees no change in the traditions and institutions of India that, in her view, are crippling the people and the country and in particular the women, who are disproportionately affected.

 

The spice girl offered to make us each a special tea, using a variety of blends from her shop.  Doug chose a mellow saffron, cinnamon and green tea blend; I had a traditional chai; both were exceptionally good.  Our discussion continued as we were treated to the aromatic scents of several bags full of spice blends, choosing more than a dozen that we wanted to take back home with us.  

 

One of the most interesting aspects of the visit was her demonstration of how one can tell real saffron from the fake “saffrons” made in India (and likely elsewhere in Asia).  One of the fakes is made from dyed coconut fibres; one is made from finely shredded newspapers.  Both of the fakes use red dyes that approximate the colour of real saffron to the extent that, even when wetted with a few drops of water, they produce the same yellow colour that real saffron produces when wetted.  Based on this test alone, unscrupulous spice-shop owners will tell that the fake product is “pure saffron.”  But - both of the fakes disintegrate into a mushy mess when wet, whereas real saffron retains its thread-like consistency.  

 

Once again we were impressed by the lengths that Indians will go to to cheat unsuspecting buyers.  They put a lot of effort into it!

 

We left the spice girl's shop with two big bags of mixed spices, some Darjeeling and Assam tea, and yet another perspective on the lives of women here in India.  These interactions and discussions with the people of India, whether they be shop-keepers, Indian tourists and business men, rickshaw drivers or hotel staff, are among the most rewarding aspects of our travels.  It is wonderful not to be on a “program” or “tour” where we feel rushed to get from one attraction to the next, unable to take the time to sit for an hour or two and just chat over chai.