It was really more of an excuse than anything. I had an afternoon to kill, and it was time for my annual visit to the shopping Mecca of the U.S. (not to be confused with actual Mecca which does have a lot of shopping these days). I snaked my way into a parking spot on the 'Hawaii' floor and began my search in the Mall of America for a gift for my cleaner back in Abu Dhabi.
"Gee, that's sure nice of Rich," you might say, "thinking of his hardworking Indian cleaner." Yeah, that would be nice, but as with most gifts, this one was encouraged more by obligation than goodwill. It's not that I don't appreciate Jabir. He arrives without fail or complaint every Friday morning, rousing me from various stages of alcohol-induced slumber, to clean the pile of dishes I had been saving since Saturday and the dishevelment of the previous night. He runs errands for me, drops off dry cleaning, has things mended, and takes care of household repairs. Around the holidays (which are much more often now that I have to wish him a 'Merry Christmas,' 'Ramadan Kareem,' and 'Happy Diwali.' I'm taking a hard line on the Gregorian New Year though.) I float him an extra $20. We are both appreciative in the exchange and I am happy to leave it at that.
Every time Jabir goes home to visit his mother (his father was crushed years ago while working under a car), his brother's family, his other handicapped brother, and his own family, who all live in one four-room home, he brings me back something from a roadside gift shop in Chennai. Noticing that I have a few decorative Ganesh items around my apartment, it tends to be something Ganesh related. I now have a growing collection of white Ganeshes in plastic and gold cases, black Ganeshes in seashells, and statues of Shiva (that's Ganesh's dad in case you didn't know).
Now this is all good and fine, but the problem comes when I think about how to reciprocate. Jabir comes from a place where the common souvenirs are also part of an ancient, rich, and glamorized culture. While America is a young country comparatively, I thought it would be nice to bring him something similar. I'm not sure of his living situation, mostly because I don't really ask or want to know. Many laborers in the Emirates live half a dozen or more to a small room, sleeping on bunk beds three high. Think of it like living in the dorms at college, but with more people who bathe less. He doesn't really have space for knickknacks or interest in collecting too much clutter. When offered some extra plates and silverware his response was, "Why sir? I already have one."
Since we don't really have many roadside knickknack stalls outside of the State Fair, I brought my search to the Mall of America to scour their ubiquitous gift shops all proclaiming, "We Love Minnesota," "Love from Minnesota," or some other arrangement involving regional self-affection.
I waded through a sea of items that were too irrelevant, pointless, or confusing to give as a gift to a villager from South India. Goldy the Gopher paraphernalia was out, so were Ole and Lena joke books. It would be difficult to explain the naiveté of two transplanted Norwegians given that our shared vocabulary consists of about 50 words all related to cleaning or inquiring about the state of each other's family. Wild rice was out too, "No, it's not really rice, it's like rice." He may have enjoyed maple, blackberry, or chokecherry syrup, but I didn't feel like hazarding the mess.
I briefly considered going the Native American route. Maybe he would enjoy a dream catcher or some deerskin moccasins. Surely he could use a pair of shoes to comfortably lounge around his bunk bed in. My white guilt got the better of me on this one. I couldn't get away from the idea that I would be giving a stereotypical product of a miscalled Indian to an original Indian.
I turned towards the semi-practical. Maybe a shot glass? I always enjoyed them as souvenirs. But would he understand the humor intended in the phrases "shut the duck up" accompanied by an angry mallard, or "bearly sober" next to an inebriated bear? The pocket knives with a Northwoods scene and first names printed on them seemed to fit the bill. Aside from it's intended uses as a saw, scissors, toothpick, and corkscrew, I was sure he could use it for self defense on his way to the communal showers. But then the hopelessness of finding one with "Jabir" scrawled across it dawned upon me, and it was out.
I left the mall still undecided on what to carry 7000 miles to show my appreciation for my cleaner. Both the snow globe showing the Minneapolis skyline and the "Sportula"--a spatula with a cut out in it of your favorite college or professional sports team's logo--seemed like viable options. At the end of the day, when it comes to substitutes for ancient gods which are seamlessly entwined with local and national culture, weather, skyscrapers, and sports are about the closest things we have to offer. But, I guess there's always the Pearson's Salted Nut Bar.
