It was easily one of my favorite books from
childhood. It still is. I happened to stumble upon it recently and it sent my
thoughts spiraling into a powerful whirlpool of memories. The book belonged to
the Sesame Street series and was titled “Don’t forget the oatmeal”.
An adult would describe the book as an
illustrative material that introduces children to the concept of supermarkets
and grocery shopping. But to a curious child growing up in the far eastern lands
of India, it was a book that enticed a child into a world of shopping carts,
open aisles, bountiful shelves and endless choice. As Bert and Ernie glided
through the aisles of the supermarket, the child quickly drew parallels with
the local grocery store – Motana Angadi ( Mota’s shop ). The shop had no board
to suggest a name and hence people referred to it by the name of the shop owner
– Mota . It was a nondescript shop that had all the three walls lined with
shelves that held a million items. The floor was covered with open sacks of grains
and barrels of oil, permitting space that was just enough for Mota to sit by
the cashier’s drawer and his minions to move and reach the corners of the wall
shelves. A multipurpose half rickety tabletop with an attached picket gate separated
the entrance of the shop from the outside world. The table was tall enough to
pass groceries that were purchased. Nobody could pass beyond this barrier. Shoppers
would often read out from a list to one of the minions who would buzz around
the tiny shop to pile the groceries on the table. “Where was the independence?
“ yelled the child . “Where was the glamor? Why couldn’t Mota arrange his goods
better? Why couldn’t he let me through that picket gate and pick my own
groceries? He could start with lowering the height of that rickety table.
Children deserve a peek into the shop too. I should probably loan him the
sesame street book. Wait! Mother said that I should go to America to study.
That was probably not my dream but I would not mind going to America. Who would
not want to go to America – the land of superstores! One day I would get there
and make sure that I visit the supermarket everyday. Ah! The joy of
independence”
Years rolled, the word globalization was
coined, but dreams remained unchanged. Supermarkets had started cropping up in
India but they never appealed to the sesame street connoisseur. Soon I was in
America, not the land of opportunities but the land of supermarkets. On day
one, I hopped with joy to the nearest supermarket. The enthusiasm was seen in the
length of the grocery list. The sight of the shopping cart at the entrance of
the supermarket was the most beckoning sight ever. I was the truly empowered shopper.
No barriers. No minions.
Cereal was the natural choice to begin the
most exciting shopping experience of my life. “Bravo ! On your way to become an
American” cheered the voice of that child. I looked around. This supermarket
seemed to be a little bigger than what I had imagined. The long aisles almost
resembled endless tunnels and were almost intimidating. “ Big country. Big
space. “, I calmed myself down. “Was I lost? Probably not. I always ask people
around when confused. Ok look around. Ask somebody. Wait! Where are the people? “Almost
towards the far end of one of the aisles, I saw a lady pushing her shopping
cart. Should I chase her down? Big country. Fewer people “ I reasoned again. A
wise man had once said, “In America, one always looks for signboards”. Ah! The
signboards. Finally some help !After what seemed like a thousand aisles and a
zillion signboards, I had finally managed to find the cereal aisle. One whole
side of the endless tunnel was lined with boxes and boxes of cereals. Which one
should I pick? Decision-making had never been a challenge but this was not
easy. ”Pick the least expensive one. You are a student “, said the reasoning
voice. I looked for the price with little success. The eyes frantically
searched for MRP (Maximum Retail Price), which is dutifully printed on every
packaged item in India. What were those strange tags on the racks? After some
complicated thought processes, I realized that the price of an item can be checked
against the tag on the rack. Organized arrangement of goods literally came with
a price tag. Maybe the cereal aisle was an exception and other aisles might be
less challenging. Unfortunately nothing changed. The kingdoms of shampoo and
dairy and fruits and vegetables and paper rolls only grew larger and more
complicated. Sigh!
I did manage to finish my shopping. But it
only took a few hours. The voice of that child was strangely quiet. The
reasoning voice was clearly overworked. Realization was beginning to dawn. Mota
was a kind and helpful individual! He simplified the most complex problems of
this world. His minion’s were god sent blessings to shoppers. Oh Mota ! How
dearly I miss you .
