"That is the promise?"

It doesn't matter what you do. Even if you read or doze or chat animatedly, when you lay on the beach in Anjuna, Goa you are interupted by the question“You like see my shop?” repeated again and again by passing young women, as if it is their capitalist mantra. I'm particularly good at a gentle “No didi*, but you have good luck with other people” used with varying degrees of success. Gia, however, did not take this hint and did not continue down the beach, away from me and my relaxation as I hoped she would.

The world's best salesperson.

“Yes, you see my shop. Nice things. All 50 rupees only*. What is your name?” When it gets to this point I am always weakened with an inborn Canadian politeness that prevents me from leaving posed questions unanswered lest I appear rude.
“Jessica” I responded, sighing. I knew that this exchange was going to last at least a few more minutes. The little girl proferred a tiny mehndied hand.
“Jetseeka. I am Gia. And what is your name?” Sean looked up from his book, warily. It is uncommon for me to let things get to this stage with touts and vendors, and he knew something was awry here.
“Sean.” He replied, also shaking her hand.
“Shann. Are you married?” She directed this question back at me, small eyes piercing me as she asked the most common of all questions in India. The answer would determine her level of respect for us – if we were decent human beings.

“Yes....um, no. He is my boyfriend.” I stuttered, figuring in this of all swinging liberal hippy places, that she would know what the term boyfriend meant (in a tiny village in Nepal the girls didn't. They thought I meant Sean was my brother when I said boyfriend, as that is the closest thing they could conceptualize to unmarried partners of the opposite sex. In order to save face once it was explained to them I had to tell them we were engaged. They still weren't happy.) She looked at Sean with consternation.

Working her magic on Shann

“You make marriage together soon, ok? That is the promise?” Sean, now laughing at the cheeky 9 year old, agreed. She looked at me “You too. You make marriage. That is the promise. OK?” I also agreed to keep the promise. She edged closer to me still. “You have very black hair. You are very white. Are you from England?”
“No,” I told her “we're from Canada.” She nodded approvingly.
“I like Canada people. You have very black hair. Now you see my shop? Everything 50 rupees. No buying, just looking.” Her shop turned out to be a tupperware container filled with sparkly trinkets and baubles, and she was fast opening it next to my head. I quickly tried to nip this in the bud.

“Nahee, didi. I don't want anything today. Maybe tomorrow....” I trailed off as she was already unloading her wares. She held a glittering little box up to my eye for inspection.
“See, all 50 rupees. You like this? I have pen, box, necklace, toe ring, anklet -” She stopped dead as she saw me hesitate at the mention of the anklets. Just that morning I had been admiring a Russian girl's silver ones, telling Sean that I wanted some just like them. “Anklet! See, very beautiful.” Before I could stop her, the jewelry was being fastened around my foot. “50 rupees just joking.” She said, smiling at me angelically.

I eyed her suspiciously. “What do you mean just joking? How much is this anklet?” She looked at me gravely.
“No business for me today Jetseeka, this anklet is the best quality, 250 rupees, how much you give me?” I looked back at her, deadpan.
“50 rupees.” I countered. She debated me with gusto, highlighting the quality, her lack of business and the fact she had just been joking about the price each time I told her 50 rupees only was all was I was willing to pay. We eventually settled on 100 rupees, and I was laughing openly at this point.
“You know didi, 'just joking' is the same as lying. '50 rupees only' is lying.” She looked at me nonchalantly and nodded.
“Yes. I have no business, so I say 50 rupees.”
“Also, this isn't real silver.” She giggled and shook her head.
“No.”
“And I paid too much because I like you, Gia.”
“Good!” She exclaimed, and proceeded to start the whole sales process over again with “Shann” despite me having figured out her ruse. She quickly realized that it was going nowhere, and as she packed up her “shop” she looked at me and squinted.

In the end, it is a very nice anklet....

“I like your clip.” I reached up and felt my hair – I had a tiny black barrette holding back my bangs, the kind that are a dollar per dozen at home. I unclippped it.
“Here. You can have it.” I said, handing it to her. Her eyes got wide.
“Yah?” She took it from me and immediately pulled her hair back, using it to secure her wispy ponytail. “OK, bye bye. I miss you soon!” She ran down the beach, and shouted “You do the promise!”
over her shoulder.

I leaned back on my beach chair, Sean and I both laughing. Tears sprang into my eyes and I looked down into my lap and read the title of the book I was reading, an anthology of travel stories each with a common theme.

The title was The Kindness of Strangers.

It seems apt.


*didi means sister in Hindi
*50 rupees is 1.25 CAD

Fast friends. Thanks, persistent little girl...