T A B L E_T A L K The adventures of overseas travel with kids is the topic in this discussion in the Wanderlust section of Table Talk   How-to, why-not and what-for -- find it all at barnesandnoble.com Search by:  Keyword Title Author     R E C E N T L Y Transylvanian nightmare By Jeffrey Tayler A young man bears the lasting burden of Romania's depraved dictator with a dignity that transcends his grim surroundings (03/23/99) The camel market of Daraw By Kristan Schiller In Egypt, a centuries-old business thrives at the end of the 40 Days Road (03/21/99) Helen of Troy is in my taxi By Rolf Potts A wanderer discovers the ambiguity of language and love in the Philippines (03/19/99) "Don't shoot -- we're Americans!" By Daniel Becker A hike across the Macedonia-Albania border goes wrong (03/18/99) Original sin By Janis Cooke Newman A culinary pilgrim in Italy succumbs to temptations far more wicked than ripe produce (03/17/99) Browse the Wanderlust Feature archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner		-------------May I help you? --------From saffron to leather to edible silver paper, --------Johnny the market boy knew where to find it --------in the teeming Calcutta marketplace. BY JACK GOLDFARB | On a sultry morning of our first trip to Calcutta six years ago, my wife, Simone, and I emerged from our posh digs at the Oberoi Grand Hotel onto the teeming sidewalk of the main thoroughfare, Chowringhee. Instantly, a lean man of about 30 with a betel-stained, toothy smile approached. In typical Bengali dress, he wore a white kurta shirt draped over a saronglike lungi. "I'm Johnny the market boy," he announced. "I can help you with your shopping today." He dangled a saucer-shaped bamboo basket in his right hand. Pinned to his kurta was a small blue badge, which he proudly informed us allowed him to work inside the legendary New Market a few streets away. "I find all things you're looking for," he said cheerfully. Simone, who has browsed through markets and malls from Orchard Street in New York to Orchard Road in Singapore, declined Johnny's offer. The most astute bargain-finder and bargainer I know, she didn't need a shopping advisor here in Calcutta. So she said. Swept along with the crowds, we headed for the nearby New Market, Mecca for Calcutta shoppers for over a century. Behind us, beaming his broad grin right at us, was Johnny the market boy, not one to give up easily. The New Market, a huge red stone building with a Gothic clock tower, resembled a 19th century London railway station. Inside, a vast labyrinth of open-fronted shops and stalls lined the narrow passageways swarming with merchants loudly pitching their wares. Simone's shopping list included requests from friends back home for such exotica as saffron spice and edible silver paper (for a niece keen on baroque cake decorations). When we asked shopkeepers where we could find any of these items, most responded by urging, "Have a look inside my store!" In the heat and hubbub of the bewildering maze of merchants and merchandise, Simone's customary shopping zeal was visibly wilting. We looked around for help. And there was Johnny, watching our frustration from a discreet distance. His faint smirk pointedly asked, "Are you ready for me now?" Of course we were. He sidled alongside. "Memsahib and Sahib, what you be looking for?" We told him about the silver paper first. He nodded knowingly, raised his bamboo basket above his head and beckoned us to follow him into the fray. Johnny knew his way around the market as if he were born on the site. He shepherded us through the tangled passages and crush of people to a hidden cubbyhole of a shop where a paunchy vendor cooled himself with a peacock-feather fan. With the other hand the man produced three shiny packets of silver paper and weighed them on a tiny brass scale, never once missing a stroke of his feathered fan. "These will give my niece much pleasure," I said. The shopkeeper and Johnny snickered. Only later did I learn that some Indians believe chewing silver paper in a betel leaf is a potent aphrodisiac. For the saffron, Johnny steered us to an aromatic corner of the market where pungent smells competed with squawking chickens and bellowing grocers. Through mounds of tropical fruits, pyramids of nuts and dunes of curry powder, Johnny led us to a spice stall where the mingled scents suffused into a cloud of exquisite fragrance. By now, we were trusting Johnny's expertise enough to believe that the 20 grams of orange threads he bought for us at a suspiciously low price of 600 rupees ($16) was genuine saffron and not the often-substituted turmeric. In Oriental folklore, excessive use of saffron makes you laugh too much. We hoped the laugh wouldn't be on us. When Johnny brought us back to the hotel with our purchases, I wasn't sure what to pay him. His reply was, "Whatever you give, I take with open hand." I slipped him a 100-rupee note, which he pocketed without looking at it. "Meherbani," he said, bowing his thanks with palms touched together, Indian style. N E X T+P A G E | Three years later: "I've been expecting you ..."   PHOTOGRAPH: JACK GOLDFARB