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Published on Feb 3, 2017
In 1991, at the age of 10, I moved back from the United States to India for a year. India was then much more closed off from the rest of the world: pre-Internet and only weeks into neoliberalism. Yet compared with the kids I’d gone to school with in Austin, Tex., my classmates at the British School in Delhi were far ahead on trends; they knew what was on offer not just at the malls of America but in Dubai, Hong Kong and London. It was either a nascent globalism or a flourish of old cosmopolitanism.
Their friends and relatives, transiting home through the bright cornucopia of duty-free shops, would bring back Hershey’s Syrup, Discmans, Midol, Nike hightops, Nirvana and Public Enemy albums — real CDs, not the Indian cassettes in white clamshell cases without liner notes. Some of these treasures were available in Delhi on both the black and white markets. But I can’t recall anybody admitting to having actually bought marked-up, already-imported items. There would have been something sullied and joyless about that. | Read the article in the New York Times Style Magazine : http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/20...