Phuler Dokaan (Flower Shop)

Back in the summer of ’06 I briefly considered applying for a Fullbright to study the South Asian immigrant population of Paris. I nixed this idea for numerous reasons; however, I remain interested in the topic. There are sizeable Tamil, Sri Lankan, and Bengali populations in Paris, none of which to my knowledge have been documented to any significant or useful extent. The other day I decided to wander towards the one Hindu temple in Paris (I'm almost positive there is only one, though I find this surprising), in search of I suppose some sort of ethnographic muse. I found the temple; it is crammed into a shabby building at the back of an alley. Signs anounce in French and Tamil that it is open to all, (which is not the case for many Hindu temples.) Inside it is filled with altars dedicated to different deities, each topped with gilded murtis (religious statues) and garlanded with flowers. It essentially has the feel of a typical Hindu home’s personal altar, yet on a larger scale. While I was there a few people came in and paid their respects to the deities, and a brahman (priest) hung out in the corner reading the paper until someone called on him to chant from the Vedas. The temple’s primary community is Tamil-speaking (from south-eastern India); as this is not a language or region with which I am particularly familiar I felt a bit out of my element, but the trip was worthwhile nonetheless.

On my way back from temple my eye caught a flower shop sign written in Bengali, (a language and region with which I am relatively familiar). I paused to decide whether or not to go in—I really had no need for flowers, but I could not just walk past a BENGALI shop in PARIS—for me this is like the intellectual equivalent of Ben and Jerry’s Half-Baked ice cream, COOKIE DOUGH and DOUBLE FUDGE BROWNIE; how can you pass it up? I wandered in to find five guys cleaning and sorting through dozens upon dozens of roses. I stalled for time by staring at all the roses trying to “decide” which ones to buy; really I was trying desperately to recall how to say anything practical in Bengali. I ultimately had a mildly productive conversation in a language I like to call Frengalindi. I found out the rose guys are all from Bangladesh, there are around 10,000 Bangladeshis in Paris, and that they don’t appreciate people walking into their shop, looking around for 15 minutes and then asking to purchase a single rose. Go figure. I would love to head back there from time to time and see if I can strike up some sort of friendship with the rose guys, though I think it would be hard to do so, and I don’t know if it would be a completely self-indulgent effort or actually produce something of value/interest to the rest of the world. We’ll see how many roses I can fit into my weekly budget.