One of my favorite Dorothy Day stories is the one about the diamond ring a wealthy admirer donated to the Catholic Worker. Everyone was curious to see what Dorothy would do with it and were dismayed and a bit annoyed when she gave it to an elderly woman who often came to the Worker for meals. When someone pointed out that the ring could have been sold to pay the woman’s rent for almost a year, Dorothy replied mildly that it was up to the woman what she did with it: she could sell it and pay her rent, or use the money to take a cruise or even just keep the ring to look at and enjoy: “Do you suppose,” she asked, “that God created diamonds only for the rich?”

I was reminded of the story recently when my colleagues and I here in India started our latest project: the Rainbow Resale Shop, staffed by young adults with mental and physical disabilities. Thrift shops are simple and familiar in the United States, but in India they are unheard of. It is interesting to speculate as to why this is so.

The most obvious reason is that – until recently – people had less to give away here. Fashions took longer to change and the urge to get rid of what one had simply to accommodate more of the same, only newer, was discouraged by a culture which traditionally frowned upon conspicuous consumption and waste.

But another, less flattering, reason may have to do with the way charity is dispensed in a hierarchical society where ranks and positions are clearly defined and universally understood.

When we first broached the idea in our various social circles, we often heard two contradictory responses, often from the same people: first, that they didn’t really have anything to donate because they already gave all their old things to their servants; and second, that poor people (i.e. their servants) didn’t like the idea of used goods, especially clothes, and that we wouldn’t get any customers.

On the other hand, friends warned us that many people would donate totally useless things and then we would be stuck with a bunch of junk, a fear we took seriously, having seen for ourselves the tattered and dirty clothes wealthy neighborhoods had collected for the victims of an earthquake in our area.

The three objections, strung together, actually made sense. Rich people were already donating their used things to their servants, but they didn’t like them because they were better fit to be rags than to wear. Their less than overjoyed reaction to the largesse of their employers perpetuated the stereotypes about poor people so common here: ungrateful, never satisfied, impossible to please. But we were convinced that people would be happy with second-hand clothes provided they were in good condition and they got to choose what they wanted.

Indeed, one of the reasons for starting a thrift shop was to remove the element of charity from the equation and replace it with choice. We made the shop as attractive as possible given our limited budget and though we don’t have the space for a dressing room yet, it’s the first thing on the list for when we move to larger quarters. Till then, we have a liberal exchange policy for things which don’t fit.

We have kept up our campaign for donations, explaining over and over how everything has to be clean and in good condition. Our accountant has made things easier by requiring that itemized receipts be given to every donor: the necessity of going through each bag to list what was in them has done away with the possibility of using the shop as a glorified garbage dump.

As people have caught on to the idea, contributions have begun pouring in, much of it from friends of mine in Delhi who do their own share of bargain-hunting in thrift shops when they are abroad. The stuff they give is amazing: brand-new blouses, sweaters, shoes and suits. A beautiful mirror framed in carved wood. A blender. A pressure cooker. Gifts they have received which don’t match their color schemes or their tastes. Their generosity has raised the stakes in Dehradun and the quality of donations here has risen considerably.

And the response on the streets has been overwhelming. At first our customers were all people we knew, but soon word began to spread and now daily wage laborers, teenage girls from neighbourhood slums and young mothers looking for baby clothes have begun to flock to the store.

The problem now is making sure that the good stuff gets left for the people who need it the most. And that’s how the Dorothy Day story occurred to me. I was doing my stint as cashier in the shop one Friday afternoon when I found a lovely short blue dress, sleeveless, with a scoop-neck both front and back. 25 rupees. Too risqué for the average Indian, I thought. Who but me would actually wear it? And anyway, to paraphrase that great American saint, “Do you suppose God made bargains only for the poor?” I bought the dress.