The roads of T. Nagar overflow with shoppers tramping through slush created by the previous night’s rain. Far above them all, Muthulakshmi* sits behind a counter piled high with bangles. “It’s a Tuesday morning; that’s why the place is not so crowded,” she says, gesturing to the vast floor of the multi-storied shop in which she works. People are already milling around with their shopping carts, trying to find the best deals during the month-long Aadi sale that has taken over all the stores in Chennai. A few stop by to sift through the merchandise at Muthulakshmi’s counter, but move on quickly after asking her where to find kungumam and manjal , both of which are on shelves right behind them.
The 16-year-old from Thiruchendur is not new to the city, but is definitely new to the Aadi rush. “On normal days, I have many fussy customers; this month, it has been worse. People are only bothered about how much money they save. Some will smile and talk nicely, and ask me to help them select bangles, but mostly they come with such sour faces that I just want to forget them the minute they leave,” says Muthulakshmi.
“I lived in Porur till I completed Class VIII. After that, my father called me back home,” she says, adding that she has moved back to Chennai just three months ago. “I have an older brother and a younger sister. I was treated like a rajakumari (princess) at home. Here it is work, work, and more work. It seems like I have joined at the most hectic part of the year,” she says with a sigh. Her colleague hands her a sheet of price tags, and she settles down to sticking them on the right packets. Why then did she leave home and start working? Lowering her voice, she speaks quickly, as if she wants to get these thoughts out of her before she changes her mind about confiding in a stranger: “My father works as a coolie. He is not a nice man. My mother died a year ago. After that, my father married again. You know how stepmothers are. I could not live with her in the same house. Better to work here and live with peace of mind.” She gets a decent wage, free housing and food and so far, she says she has one friend who takes good care of her. “Now, if only the customers were nicer. I am not looking forward to the weekend,” she says emphatically.
In a textile store in Purasawalkam, another shopping district in the city, Ismail* stacks fabrics on the shelf. He gets back to his post, a rack of men’s readymade clothes, where he puts things in place. A family of four then descends on it and departs a few minutes later, leaving several shirts off the hangers. “This is nothing new. I’ve been here five years now and every Aadi is the same. Everyone is in a rush to pick up the good stuff before it is gone,” he says.
Hailing from Thiruvallarai near Tiruchirappalli, the 29-year-old has a family to support back home. “I was working at a mechanic shop but the pay was not great. Prospects in the city are always better, so I came here. I started by moving boxes from floor to floor; I guess I have graduated to a higher post now,” Ismail says with a smile. “There are some days when I feel like it is much easier to carry boxes than to interact with people who will berate me for no reason other than the fact that I happen to be around them. A couple of days ago, someone picked up a shirt from the discount rack. I noticed that it had been wrongly placed and pointed out that there is no discount on it. The man started yelling at me and would not stop till the floor manager calmed him down. Customers can be ridiculous,” he says with an exasperated look.
The Aadi month may be one that shopaholics look forward to, but it seems like those behind the counters don’t share their enthusiasm. Ismail tries to make sense of the madness: “Even Ramzan, Deepavali, Pongal and Christmas shopping is bearable because everyone knows what they’re shopping for. When it’s just a sale on everything possible, it drives everyone a little crazy.”
*Names have been changed to protect privacy
