Therapy for Agraphobia

From recent photos you may have noticed a penchant developing for inlaid marble, a technique of insetting semi-precious stones into fine marble, used to adorn Rajasthani palaces and fancy bars. This predilection asserted itself in the form of a need to shop as my gaze fell upon the little storefronts of the marble-craft area of Taj-ganj, Agra between the station and the hotel.  And it was with this rather fanciful excitement that I set out to buy myself a marble plate. Agra is probably the worst place, however, to go shopping. It is in Uttar Pradesh, just like Kajuraho and Varanassi where the hassle factor was verging on unbearable in the first leg of my trip.  I did not want to be in this town and I was only staying 24hours, "doing the Taj" and shipping out.  Being home to the one of the wonders of the world, Agra has the potential to be even worse than UP's other tourist towns but with wealthy tour-group tourists kept out of the old town in their ivory towers, I was able to sneak out into craftsman territory and get to the very source of this marvellous artistry.

Having wandered the streets, ignoring touts and shopkeepers using the i-pod method I selected a dusty shop-front with signs of industry around its edges and started to look at small trays and plates within.  They were very attractive and so, surprisingly, were their first prices.  Once I had established that I knew my alabaster and soap stone from my marble, I moved the shopkeeper up to showing me his plates and platters.

There was a platter in a cabinet that called my name, its mother of pearl inlay glistening from its intricate black marble cage.  I asked to see it, I gave it a lingering touch and returned it to the shopkeeper telling him it was just too heavy for me to carry, but beautiful nevertheless.  I think the men in the shop were by this point wondering if I was ever going to part with any cash but they seemed to be enjoying my interest and passion for their art and asked if I would like to see their workshop.  So out of the back of the shop we went, passing through a very dusty storage area where I spotted an gorgeous 4x8 dining table-top adorned with peacocks and parrots in true William Morris fashion.  After a few questions about the impact that red wine spillages may have on it and being assured that they would wash off and not stain it, I was suitably impressed and we went through the courtyard, through the house and up onto the roof where several men were cutting tiny pieces of beautifully shaped and coloured stone and mapping out designs on marble of all shapes and sizes.

We were all chatting comfortably by now so on my way back to the shop I asked them to dust off some of the table tops in the store room for a better look.  Having figured that prices ranged from about 200 to 550 pounds, little murmers of “I can afford this”, “that’s just the price of a few horse rugs” and “you never spend anything on furniture” began to creep in.  I kept the thoughts at bay, pushing them down with a strength of mind honed by Vipassana.  That was until one table was moved and a black Octagonal one revealed.  Not only black, but inlaid with mother of pearl twice as intricate as the talking platter had been and juxtaposed with turquoise …my favourite stone.  It was, for me at least, exquisite.

Fortunately I had been asking how much lots of things were and when I was given the price of this piece, which was a tad higher than some of its similarly-sized neighbours due to the level of workmanship, the murmurs were back and they stayed.  I called for the reinforcement of my work-head and set to work, disseminating packaging charges, keeping them warm but not biting, demonstrating my knowledge of India-UK postal charges, taking apart their initial quotes to ship this exquisite beauty to the UK and then, with much chai, calculator pummeling and displays of how outstanding their “pack man” was, we had a deal.  I went off on a motorbike with the owner to one of the very fancy showrooms they supply to use the debit card facilities and hey presto I was the owner of possibly the most beautiful material item I have ever and might ever own.  Incidentally this has to be a joy of single-life because it was my decision, I spent all that money and it didn’t matter if anybody else liked it!

I took my leave after one of their craftsmen had come down and given my table top a thorough polishing and popped back for a celebratory beer on my hotel roof while the sun set over the Taj Mahal (not something you get to do every day, even in India!).  I returned to the craft quarter at 7pm to meet the “pack man” who in the meanwhile had made a huge, strong box from 2cm thick fluted plastic board encasing a made to measure foam cradle.  I watched the packing then sat down with the courier and did the paperwork before watching my gigantic blue box get squeezed into an auto rickshaw and put-put away.  I know buying and selling, I know packing and shipping and everything was tickety-boo but as always in India I had to supress my fear about it all ending terribly and trust in her chaotic way-of-being to carry my sovereign souvenir back to the security of Cheshire.