The weekly market in my area is something to be seen and believed! The wares spill over the road and the road is jam-packed with people shopping madly. The policemen try in vain to control the crowd but give up after some time. No vehicle can pass the area. it is cordoned off, yet one has to push and struggle to get through. Hundreds of buyers, women mostly, throng the area, chattering bargaining, pulling, pushing. You do see a few men, bravely trying to find their way but most of them looked harassed and irritable.
Why this mad rush? The reason given is that you can find all the vegetable, all the fruits, all the condiments, clothes, flowers, plastic goods, at one place. Things are said to be cheaper too I I really cannot vouch for that but most women seem to believe it, including my mother.
The scene seems to be from some painting on a large canvas. Smells, colors, sounds, touch all mingle together. You are struck by the colorful sarees, the multi-colored mounds of vegetables and fruits, the variety of fish lying on the pavement, the toys loaded in carts. Then the cacophony of sound hits you. Screams, arguments, shouts by the vendors deafen you. Mothers shouting at errant children, housewives bargaining at the top of their voices, blares of horns in the distance, the whistles of the policemen pierce your eardrums. The last thing that hits you is the smell! Smell of fish, smell of overripe fruits, smell of “Garam-Masalas” (spices) and the red chilies, smell of petrol are all mixed up, to say nothing about the smell of bodies.
I am dragged to this market week after week by my mother as it happens on a Saturday. I dread going because the noise, the overpowering smells, the continuous haggling gives me a headache. But my mother feels it is a training for future running of household. She has never told me how much she saves by going to this market. Sometimes she is cheated badly, but nothing can keep her away. It is an experience but not the kind I relish or like to have week after week.
Why this mad rush? The reason given is that you can find all the vegetable, all the fruits, all the condiments, clothes, flowers, plastic goods, at one place. Things are said to be cheaper too I I really cannot vouch for that but most women seem to believe it, including my mother.
The scene seems to be from some painting on a large canvas. Smells, colors, sounds, touch all mingle together. You are struck by the colorful sarees, the multi-colored mounds of vegetables and fruits, the variety of fish lying on the pavement, the toys loaded in carts. Then the cacophony of sound hits you. Screams, arguments, shouts by the vendors deafen you. Mothers shouting at errant children, housewives bargaining at the top of their voices, blares of horns in the distance, the whistles of the policemen pierce your eardrums. The last thing that hits you is the smell! Smell of fish, smell of overripe fruits, smell of “Garam-Masalas” (spices) and the red chilies, smell of petrol are all mixed up, to say nothing about the smell of bodies.
I am dragged to this market week after week by my mother as it happens on a Saturday. I dread going because the noise, the overpowering smells, the continuous haggling gives me a headache. But my mother feels it is a training for future running of household. She has never told me how much she saves by going to this market. Sometimes she is cheated badly, but nothing can keep her away. It is an experience but not the kind I relish or like to have week after week.
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