 |
    
    
April's
Articles for Giftware News:
back
to articles>>
Field Agents, India
2.
September 25, 2006
If you want to know what people want — think about what
people do. There is nothing like an early (early, early, early)
morning outing to make your eyes fresh to people’s inner
lives.
At 6 a.m. the other morning, while I was driving through New Delhi,
I watched the early morning activities of the just waking city.
Delhi, a hustle and bustle of an urban sprawl, was softly quiet,
but pockets of specialized activity could be seen.
Newspapers. There are stacks of newspapers being sorted and bundled,
newspaper boys with their bicycles piled high with their customer’s
morning news selection — Hindustan Times, Times of India,
even the Herald Tribune—all custom ordered newspapers, sorted
for still sleeping readers.
Bread. There is bread laid out on cloths on the ground—in
neat distribution piles, two loaves for the large family, one
for the small, and just a half for the old lady who is alone.
There are wooden vegetable carts, and even a small horse with
a cart of potatoes, onions and carrots—all of which are prepared
for early morning deliveries.
I visualize the recipient’s newspaper—it calls for
a cup of coffee and a chair. I wonder what the chair is like;
will it be comfortable, wicker, wood, or just a cushion on the
floor? What does their cup look like? Is it thick and crafted,
resting well in the hollow of the hand—or fine china, slim
and balancing on an equally fine finger and thumb? Is it the favorite
morning cup — which may be filled with the famous Indian
bed tea—or is it a miniature yellow cup, that takes a shot
of south Indian coffee? I think there are slippers—I wonder
if the readers feet are cold? The marble floors are probably the
explanation, holding the cool of the night they now have chilled
the feet. Is she wearing crochet slippers, soft and dainty, or
leather slides that last forever? How about the pajamas, breezy
cotton—or are they in rich brocade? Maybe the lady all alone
is wearing a flowing caftan, paprika-colored, glowing in the dawn.
Perhaps she doesn’t care for coffee—Indian chai may
start her day. Well, teapots come in many sizes—tea for one,
or do we have a couple here? I think my reader likes an oriental
touch—a painted teapot with plum blossoms and butterflies—she
keeps it just for mornings, mornings every day.
I see her eyeglasses—just for reading—maybe the rims
are a sharp green? I wonder where she bought her glasses; they
are the prettiest I've ever seen. She puts the bread in its small
basket—with a little yellow butter? And perhaps a pretty
knife for cutting cheese. The plate, not too large, just for mornings,
a glass to hold the fruit juice, please. Now those veggies from
the small brown horses cart—well, there will be dinner, and
those are just the start. She will need an apron for her cooking,
flowered, pretty, she'll look grand! She will need a towel to
wipe her hands, soft and honeycombed, an absorbent towel she chose
herself. I can see her day, her life, her choices. I can see her
plans and I can visualize her getting going—activating her
own day.
Just as the sun is rising, as the night begins its fade, just
as the newspaper boy arcs his arm to throw the paper—I see
her day and all her choices, right inside my mind.
If you want to know what people want, think about who people are.
From the City,
New Delhi
April Cornell |
|
|
