When I moved into Mysore three years ago, I encountered a strange concept at a perfectly ordinary location: the vegetable vendor's. I needed a bunch of coriander leaves and he was showing me some. A person was standing next to me. "Get naughty," he said.
Shocked, I looked at the not-so-young man who smiled back with genuine friendliness. I'd heard that men get naughty at 40. He seemed about that age. That man, however, was indicating the two slightly different looking bunches of the leafy vegetable in front of me. "The farm one won't be so full of flavour," he said.
That is when I realised that he meant natti, or home-grown, versus farm-grown produce. I looked back at the two bunches. The natti guy was looking as strong as Stan Laurel and the other was a little healthier. With so much pressure on me, I had to take the natti one. Later, I experimented with the farm version, and found it to be not very different, but the natti cost almost double for half the amount of leaves and stalks, putting it beyond my coriander budget. The natti-ness also extended to tomatoes, I found out later. However, here the prices were reversed. The natti or local tomatoes were more sour, juicier and cheaper, while the 'jam tomatoes' were sweet or just insipid, and a little more expensive.
Speaking of expensive, the humble vegetable market has become a little like the famous diamond markets of Antwerp and Martapura. You go in with large amounts of money, and come out with a small amount of produce in a little bag. Don't believe me? Well, here is an example.
I have a vegetable-wallah who I always buy from. One day, I skipped along to his cycle to buy veggies. Seeing a pile of fresh green beans, I ran my fingers through them, not noticing the seller's uneasiness.
"How much?" I asked breezily.
"Rs 15," he said.
"Okay, then. I'll take half a kilo."
"That will be Rs 30."
"Er, I don't think so," I ventured tentatively. I am a little weak in Maths, I should have taken a calculator, I thought.
"It's Rs 15 for 1/4 kilo," he said, edging the beans away from me. "And the tomatoes, potatoes, onions are Rs 10 for 1/4 kg. The garlic is Rs 20 for 100 gm."
"Do you have any limes?" I faltered.
"Amma, don't you know that limes are sold only at maximum security markets with safety lockers?" he asked me contemptuously. "Limes of 2 cm diameter cost Rs 4 a piece."
"How much will a lime this big cost?" I asked, holding my fingers about 4 cm apart.
This time, there was definitely pity in his gaze. "Don't ask, you can't afford it."
I staggered home, heartsick with an empty purse and with six beans, one each of tomato, potato and onion, and no garlic. When my husband asked what our children would eat, I said, "Let them eat Cadbury's Dairy Milk."
After my run-in with the vegetable seller, I began to think furiously. Surely, there was something in this situation that an entrepreneur could exploit. I confronted my husband that evening.
"I think we should uproot the coffee and plant beans," I said.
"I don't think it is a good idea to plant vanilla when the market for vanilla beans is so bad," he began.
"I'm talking green beans, not vanilla," I said. "With an intercropping of naughty, I mean, natti coriander and tomato, we will be in the Fortune 500 billionaires list before we know it."
He gave me an incredulous look, and quickly changed the subject, and we haven't discussed the topic since. But I haven't abandoned hope yet.
I'm going to send him to buy vegetables tomorrow.
Shocked, I looked at the not-so-young man who smiled back with genuine friendliness. I'd heard that men get naughty at 40. He seemed about that age. That man, however, was indicating the two slightly different looking bunches of the leafy vegetable in front of me. "The farm one won't be so full of flavour," he said.
That is when I realised that he meant natti, or home-grown, versus farm-grown produce. I looked back at the two bunches. The natti guy was looking as strong as Stan Laurel and the other was a little healthier. With so much pressure on me, I had to take the natti one. Later, I experimented with the farm version, and found it to be not very different, but the natti cost almost double for half the amount of leaves and stalks, putting it beyond my coriander budget. The natti-ness also extended to tomatoes, I found out later. However, here the prices were reversed. The natti or local tomatoes were more sour, juicier and cheaper, while the 'jam tomatoes' were sweet or just insipid, and a little more expensive.
Speaking of expensive, the humble vegetable market has become a little like the famous diamond markets of Antwerp and Martapura. You go in with large amounts of money, and come out with a small amount of produce in a little bag. Don't believe me? Well, here is an example.
I have a vegetable-wallah who I always buy from. One day, I skipped along to his cycle to buy veggies. Seeing a pile of fresh green beans, I ran my fingers through them, not noticing the seller's uneasiness.
"How much?" I asked breezily.
"Rs 15," he said.
"Okay, then. I'll take half a kilo."
"That will be Rs 30."
"Er, I don't think so," I ventured tentatively. I am a little weak in Maths, I should have taken a calculator, I thought.
"It's Rs 15 for 1/4 kilo," he said, edging the beans away from me. "And the tomatoes, potatoes, onions are Rs 10 for 1/4 kg. The garlic is Rs 20 for 100 gm."
"Do you have any limes?" I faltered.
"Amma, don't you know that limes are sold only at maximum security markets with safety lockers?" he asked me contemptuously. "Limes of 2 cm diameter cost Rs 4 a piece."
"How much will a lime this big cost?" I asked, holding my fingers about 4 cm apart.
This time, there was definitely pity in his gaze. "Don't ask, you can't afford it."
I staggered home, heartsick with an empty purse and with six beans, one each of tomato, potato and onion, and no garlic. When my husband asked what our children would eat, I said, "Let them eat Cadbury's Dairy Milk."
After my run-in with the vegetable seller, I began to think furiously. Surely, there was something in this situation that an entrepreneur could exploit. I confronted my husband that evening.
"I think we should uproot the coffee and plant beans," I said.
"I don't think it is a good idea to plant vanilla when the market for vanilla beans is so bad," he began.
"I'm talking green beans, not vanilla," I said. "With an intercropping of naughty, I mean, natti coriander and tomato, we will be in the Fortune 500 billionaires list before we know it."
He gave me an incredulous look, and quickly changed the subject, and we haven't discussed the topic since. But I haven't abandoned hope yet.
I'm going to send him to buy vegetables tomorrow.