By our third visit to the USA, nearly five years later—time spent mostly navigating the challenging task of finding a bride for my second son (can I write about this? I’ll need my son’s permission)—things seemed to have changed. The vegetables and fruits appeared to have shrunk in size. What was happening? It turned out that the enterprising local Indian population had started selling Indian-type vegetables, fruits, snacks, and sweets. Oh, what a taste! The familiar, sweet-smelling aroma was a delight, resolving one of our earlier concerns. With the smaller, more familiar-looking vegetables and fruits, and with my worsening vision, no one was willing to entrust me with the honorable task of cutting vegetables anymore. I had completely forgotten how to handle the smaller-sized Indian produce.

Why can’t happy times and simple tasks be shared? Am I destined only for the tough tasks, whether at home or in the office?

During our first two visits, shopping was an adventure, an outing, a chore, and a pastime for us. But from the third visit, by which time I had lost my sight, shopping became more of a necessity. Though my wife managed to take me out for important shopping trips, I could sense her strain, as well as my own. Gradually, I began to limit my outdoor ventures. Often, I would sit at home alone, daydreaming about some miraculous return of my vision, while my wife went on her “lonely” shopping trips. This built up a longing in me to go out as much as possible.

By this time, India—and Chennai—was literally “littered” with huge shopping malls and chain stores. Yet, all the malls seemed to have the same stores, much like in the USA. The crowds had increased, and India was in the midst of a spending spree, with bustling restaurants, hotels, shopping complexes, and hospitals springing up everywhere. India’s massive population—yes, I know, such an insightful observation! —meant that whenever I visited shops or malls, there was always some jostling. And how were people to know that I was blind? With some limited, blurred vision in one eye, I didn’t use a cane because I didn’t want to confuse my brain further. This discomfort led me to avoid outings altogether. And then there was the traffic—how would my wife manage to take me across a busy road or even a quiet street?

This is why I eagerly looked forward to visiting the USA, where the smaller population and thinner crowds allowed me to walk freely on sidewalks and move comfortably in shops and malls. In India, once people realized I was struggling with my vision, many, including salespeople, would offer help and even bring me a chair.

However, the practice of providing seating for shoppers has all but disappeared—true for both India and the USA. So, most of the time, I would be offered a flimsy plastic stool, where I would sit, trying to balance myself carefully. Yet, I would give anything just to have this basic seating. In the USA, you might occasionally find a bench outside a shop, but otherwise, it was often back-breaking. Is shopping only for the young and fit?

Still, getting out was more important to me than the discomfort of sitting or standing. I took every opportunity to go out; it was refreshing and joyful, bringing me a sense of the freedom I longed for. With my entire family trained to guide and support me, I always felt safe.

Continued in 91. Shopping Hopping - Part 8