Evolution of a story
This post here is going to be a step by step process of me trying to come up with a story. This is an exercise which is part of our creative story writing workshop. So there are going to be many drafts before I reach the final version. Hopefully soon! So here goes the evolution steps. The edits here are based on the feedback received. Please do feel free to leave your invaluable comments that will help me enhance the piece further.
Third Step:
Feedback:
"Fruitful" Day
From the familiar and frequented MG Road, I was led into the by lanes to a market place – called Shivaji Market. As it was named after ‘Shivaji’, I visualized a fortress housing the market. Something similar to the Meena Bazaar inside the Red Fort, Delhi. I was pleasantly surprised to find a magnificent gothic era building, instead, tucked neatly in the inner lanes. Inside it housed various stalls that sold everything from fruits to vegetables, fish, mutton, beef and more and even grocery. Massive grilled gates served as the entrance and exit to the building. Even though there were plenty of gates, not all of them were left open. I assumed it was done for security reasons or perhaps the caretaker of the market couldn’t find enough man power to lock and open the door, or perhaps on a lighter vein, they couldn’t carry the massive bundle of keys. Whatever could be the reason; one could peek inside the building through the gates and view the happenings inside.
A road ran along the outer walls of the building. On the road, I spotted a few stalls and inquisitively decided to take a look around and then enter inside. From the gates, I could see cheap tin boards pointing the location of the stalls with the stall number and item sold written. Inside a closed gate, a couple of excited crows were feasting on tidbits. It could be mutton or beef pieces, for the air were filled with rancid odor. The wall held a sign board – “Stall 5, Mutton Shop”; and I was proven right. Impetuously, I decided not to enter the building. I have nothing against the non-vegetarians but I myself find the smell of meat offensive and sickening. The last time I entered another marketplace which sold meat, it took me an entire week and bottles of essential bathing oils to get rid of the smell. I started walking briskly and suddenly the whole place seemed to come alive in the form of stalls selling every sort of vegetables and fruits that one could imagine. I soon forgot the sick feeling as I was led into an enchanting land.
Lined along the outer walls of the building were stalls selling fruits of all shapes and sizes – round, oblong, square with the season’s best pick – mangoes in plenty. Opposite to them were stalls lined with fresh vegetables. The narrow lane left in between was frequented with passing two wheelers and an occasional auto rickshaw but mostly by passer-bys and shoppers. The shoppers strolled glancing each goodie and stopping by to purchase a few. The daily commuters – the brisk walkers, passed by oblivious of any other existence, but the road leading to their destination. To my dismay, technically these stalls were not part of the actual Shivaji Market, as they were located outside the building. Nevertheless, I decided to explore the wonderland sporting the mélange of colors steaming with the exotic flavors of fruits and vegetables.
The stalls were surrounded by wooden stilts which held the roof. The stilts had coils of electrical wires at the end of which dangled electric bulbs. It was same everywhere except a single vegetable vendor who had draped his section of the stilt with Indian tricolors – the only proud Indian.
The roof above –in fact were bright colored sheets, the kinds you get in Rajasthan and Gujarat, tied by their ends to the stilts. The rectangle pieces of cloth – fiery orange, deadly crimson, not only formed the roof but also filtered the sun rays. The grim tar street below glowed with an orange-reddish hue. The light played upon the colors of fruits and vegetables, prominently displayed at their best in neatly arranged stacks, exaggerating their natural shades. They appeared at times colored with fierce, harsh, brilliantly exploding shades. The pyramids of apples varying from shades of deep red to rosy red to faint pink, dull yellow cantaloupes, some even twins, watermelons - dark green stripped ones and dull lighter green– ovals and circles of these juicy baseballs, green and yellow papayas, inviting red juicy litchis tied in bunches, dark green pears chiseled to perfect shape, thick skinned grayish yellow pineapples neatly stacked with their green crowns pointing upwards, juicy green sweet limes and oranges along with fresh figs, but the king of fruits beat them all – stacks of tempting ripe mangoes light yellow to deep orange.
At the far end of the fruit stalls, there were bangle shops, not quite sure whether they were part of Shivaji Market, but they neatly blended with the riot of colors. Enroute, I had seen a board through a gate, “Bismillah Provision and Grocery Store”, which meant this market, was a one stop for everyday needs. And now the bangle shop – so as to provide a complete shopping experience. The colors from the fruits and vegetables and pulses would go away once cooked and eaten but the bangles would adorn the hands and remind of the colors.
Well the wonderland had its share of filth and dirt. But what I choose was the beautiful colors and ignored the blacks, browns and grey. I sat next to an open drainage, in other occasions I would have distanced myself from the very place but somehow the riot of colors and the smells from the ripe mangoes, pineapples, occasional waft of the litchis and limes seemed to overpower everything around. I really didn’t mind the sweet smells and hoped they lingered with me for a week or even more.
I stood there enraptured with the beauty around and was startled, when a cat appeared from nowhere among the fruits. The shop keeper shooed it away with a frantic wave of his hand and a barely audible ‘Shoo’. The cat jumped from the stall, paused, and turned around looking at the shop keeper, and with a smirk seemed to tell, “Hey cool it man, I have nothing to do with your fruits. I am going to have a feast on some nice fish today. Eat your fruits yourself.” Having said this it made its way straight into the market gate and vanished inside the building. I wished it good luck and bade adieu. I turned my head to find a tiny house fly resting on a ripe mango. The shop keeper satisfied that he had driven the cat, took a glimpse of the fly, and then as if ignoring its mere existence turned to attend his customers. The fly was left alone and so was I. The moment I arrived into the market, the shop keepers greeted me as a prospective customer trying to woo me to check out their wares, but when they realized I was here for a different purpose they were curious to know. I explained them that I was here to do a story and was greeted with excited shop keepers. Word spread quickly and I was offered a seat on a chair and some shop keepers came with ideas - “Make him the villain and myself the Hero”, “Do you need more characters, I could get my kids.” And then as suddenly as they had descended on me they vanished and left me alone. To them, maybe I appeared more like the innocuous fly rather than the hostile cat. They registered my presence and once assured that I am not deterrent to their work left me on my own, as they did with the fly.
The shop keeper’s words caught my attention. He spoke, “How much, madam how much you want? Very fresh and juicy, please buy, for you only 300 rupees, buy 1 dozen.” Yes it was English! I had heard them speak chaste Marathi and pretty good Hindi but didn’t know they were versatile enough and spoke English. I craned to see who he was addressing in English. It was a Malaysian or perhaps some South Asian origin lady. She reminded me of my English teacher from Class 1. The Anglo Indian bob cut lady, impeccable in her dressings as well as her speech. Though she stooped a bit even when she was young, she used to bark at us, “Young Lady, back straight, sit upright, no stooping.” This lady too stooped but it was because of a back injury. She was wearing those back support belts over her frock. And the similarities didn’t end here, this lady too, each time she started her sentence cleared her throat – “Ahem.” She spoke in a loud and clear voice instructing the shop keeper, “I want 2 dozens of sweet limes. Pick the big ones with thin skins. And fill it in two separate bags. Give me some litchis but no cheating me in the weight.” The shop keeper with a sudden newfound adroitness started acting to her instructions to a T. After she satisfied with bagging her fruits went her way. The shop keeper passed the money to his assistant who without even looking at it shoved it inside a drawer. The shop keeper then completely changed his mannerisms; he was back to his usual coarse way. He went on to address another lady in Hindi. He took a bag, opened it as if he was tearing something and then picked 2-3 limes together and shoved them into the bag. The exact opposite to how he had given the sweet limes to the foreigner lady. He had tenderly picked each sweet lime as they were something delicate with just 2 fingers and then placed them inside the bag and not dropped. He appeared to be a practical guru as the best customized solution provider. Suddenly, the shop keeper stretched his hand, grabbed 2 newspapers, and flung it over the wares and was back counting the money.
I turned to see an old man who had handed him the papers now ride to the next shop and did the same. For once, he didn’t get down the cycle nor stop it. All the time he was in a constant slow motion, just pausing to pedal, pick a couple of newspapers drop them in the outstretched hands. He had bundles of Mid day and a Urdu daily in a basket attached to the handle of the cycle. Both the cycle and he appeared of the same age. He, a wrinkled old man and his cycle, battered and rusted iron machine. When he passed the fruit shop, I noticed him against the building wall. He seemed to actually compliment the ancient building structure, old but sturdy and proudly going about his usual routine. I didn’t see any of the shop keepers reading the newspapers, or even glancing at it. But it appeared as if each one was paying respect to an old man or continuing a tradition unknown to the outer world. I turned back my attention to the shop keeper, multi tasking - speaking all the while to different customers, weighing the fruits, adding up the totals, offering fruits to be tasted, counting the money, handing the change and the bags. His hands, eyes, and body followed a strange kind of rhythm – mesmerizing me. He continued to lure the customers, addressing them – “Sir, buy these it’s priced at 40 but for you its 35, and I have juicy ripe mangoes too – the best ones its 400 but for you 350 and if you buy more than a dozen 300”. He kept on trying till he caught the attention of the customer. If they stopped and picked the mango when he described them as best and juicy, he continued with this aspect and described in detail how tasty and juicy they were. “Sir you will get this quality only at my shop. These are the juiciest one. If any of the mangoes is not tasty please return it to me, full money back. Guarantee I give each one will be sweetest.” If the customers turned and came after he reduced the price, he kept saying to them, “Sir you will get this quality for 400, if you get for less, I will return your money.” He kept proving his dexterity as the best customized solution provider. He was the best judge of the customers – shifting from Hindi to Marathi to English; from bragging about the quality to value for money. But he being a human had his shares of inaccuracies.
A man walked to the shop, not very rich nor poor from his appearance. Seemed he had enough money to buy at least 2-3 mangoes if not the entire dozen. The shop keeper immediately thrust a mango in the hand of the man saying “here buy it’s the best sweet lot - 400 a dozen”. The man took the mango and raised it to his face as if trying to smell. But the act of smelling turned out to be a thank you for the alms. He raised his hand to his forehead and bowed to the shop keeper. In a swift, the shop keeper realized his mistake snatched the mango but very softly murmured, “I mistook you for a customer, it’s for sale, go away”. His actions displayed anger and frustration but his voice sounded apologetic and calm – a conflict within whether he should share or sell. The beggar understood his predicament and moved forth with no resentment. Both were back to their business. The shopkeeper started to attend to other customers.
All the while, I was waiting to dig into some of the juicy litchis myself. And I finally gave into my temptation and started my shopping. I trusted him to pick the ripe, the good right ones for me and I just paid and bagged the goodies. I bought a whole lot of fruits – litchis, sweet limes, pears and even wanted the melons but realized it would be too much to carry as I had to buy vegetables for my neighbor too. After the fruits, I went around buying the fresh inviting veggies and bagged all those goodies back home.
Back home, there were more surprises in store, my neighbor kiddo, the 10 month old, was excited to see the litchis. He transformed into a sweet cuddly puppy and followed me sans his wagging tail. I had a gala time feeding him litchis and after every bite he told me in his gibberish how much he loved them.
Satisfied with the day well spent, I made myself a glass of sweet lime juice, and sat writing the colorful day’s events for my blog. I realized, when I could have been cuddled with a book in my comfy couch, I choose to be participating in a workshop. I even willingly welcomed the chance of exploring a new part of the city – Shivaji Market. And it was worth all the effort – to sum it up a “fruitful” day.
Second step:
Feedback: I have made an attempt to enter your world of colours and rainbow and find , half way through, that the colours are blurring for me. :-)
Check the comments i have made and perhaps give your piece one more shot. See if you can make it richer and finer in the ways suggested and in your own ways.
"Fruitful" Day
As I passed along the gates, I could see boards with direction of the
stall, the stall number and item sold. At one of the closed gates, I
saw a couple of crows feasting on some tidbits. I could smell meat and
I assumed them to be biting into mutton or beef pieces. At that
moment, I had decided not to enter the building. I have nothing
against the non-vegetarians but I myself find the smell of meat
offensive and sickening.(sounds general and ordinary, write it in specifics not just here but at many places in your story. Perhaps say it like - as i passed along one gate i saw a board with a sign directing me to the stall and no. 7 written on it... )
I recall having tried to get over this and enter another marketplace which sold meat. It took me an entire week and bottles of essential bathing oils to get rid of the smell. I started walking briskly and suddenly the whole place seemed to come alive in the form of stalls selling vegetables and fruits.
I soon forgot the sick feeling as I was led into the enchanting landof (rainbows) colors – entering (colours) the rainbow. Lined along the outer walls of the building were stalls selling fruits of all kinds with the season’sbest pick – mangoes in plenty. Opposite to them were stalls lined with
fresh vegetables. It was a wonderland and I choose to settle somewhere (where exactly and why. You see Reema, the story is here , n the specifc and unique thing you saw, you choose, you decided, you explored. If you dont DISCLOSE the details and share your private 'eye' we, the reader, does not get to see what you saw.)
I soon forgot the sick feeling as I was led into the enchanting land of colors – entering the rainbow. Lined along the outer walls of the building were stalls selling fruits of all kinds with the season’s best pick – mangoes in plenty. Opposite to them were stalls lined with fresh vegetables. It was a wonderland and I choose to settle somewhere among these stalls. To my dismay I found that technically these stalls were not part of the actual Shivaji Market, as they were located outside the building. Nevertheless, I decided to explore this wonderland. Strangely at the far end of the fruit stalls I noticed bangle shops. I am unsure whether they were part of Shivaji Market or a trick in the wonderland.
The stalls were covered on top with the brightest sheets, mostly the kinds you get in Rajasthan and Gujarat – they were a riot of colors. Underneath the sheets, the wooden stilts provided support to the roof. Across these stilts, electrical wires were coiled with electric bulbs dangling at their end. I assumed that the market functioned even during night or maybe a few hours past sunset. It was same everywhere except a single vegetable vendor had draped his section of the stilt with Indian tricolors – the only proud Indian.
The colorful sheets formed the roof for the stalls and also filtered the sun rays and gave the street below an orange-reddish glow. The narrow lane was frequented with passing two wheelers and an occasional auto rickshaw but mostly by passer-bys and shoppers. The shoppers strolled glancing each goodie and stopping by to purchase a few. The daily commuters – the brisk walkers, passed by oblivious of any other existence, but the road leading to their destination.
I sat in front of a gate which led to stalls selling mutton and a grocery store. Well the wonderland had its share of filth and dirt. But what I choose was the beautiful colors and ignored the blacks, browns and grey. I sat next to an open drainage, in other occasions I would have distanced myself from the very place but somehow the riot of colors and the smells from the ripe mangoes, pineapples, occasional waft of the litchis and limes seemed to overpower everything around. I really didn’t mind the sweet smells and hoped they lingered with me for a week or even more.
I sat there mesmerized eyeing everything around curious and excited as a kid. The fruits and vegetables were prominently displayed at their best in neatly arranged stacks. Colorful pyramids of apples varying from the shades of deep red to rosy red to faint pink, cantaloupes of all shapes and sizes some even twins, watermelons the dark green stripped ones and the dull lighter green– ovals and circles of these juicy baseballs, green and yellow papayas, inviting juicy litchis tied in bunches, dark green pears chiseled to perfect shape, thick skinned pineapples neatly stacked with their green crowns pointing upwards, juicy green sweet limes and oranges along with fresh figs, but the king of fruits beat them all – stacks of tempting ripe mangoes light yellow to deep yellow.
I was overwhelmed with the beauty around and was startled, when a cat appeared from nowhere among the fruits. The shop keeper shooed it away with a frantic wave of his hand and a barely audible ‘Shoo’. The cat jumped down from the stall and turned to look around to the shop keeper, and with a smirk seemed to tell, “Hey cool it man, I have nothing to do with your fruits. I am going to have a feast on some nice fish today. Eat your fruits yourself. “It made its way straight into the market gate and vanished inside the building. I wished it good luck and bade adieu.
I turned my head to find a tiny house fly resting on a ripe mango. The shop keeper satisfied that he had driven the cat, took a glimpse of the fly, and then as if ignoring its mere existence turned to attend his customers. The fly was left alone and so was I. The moment I arrived into the market, the shop keepers greeted me as a prospective customer trying to woo me to check out their wares, but when they realized I was here for a different purpose they were curious to know. I explained them that I was here to do a story and was greeted with excited shop keepers. Word spread quickly and I was offered a seat on a chair and some shop keepers came with ideas - “Make him the villain and myself the Hero”, “Do you need more characters, I could get my kids.” And then as suddenly as they had descended on me they vanished and left me alone. To them, maybe I appeared more like the innocuous fly rather than the hostile cat. They registered my presence and once assured that I am not deterrent to their work left me on my own, as they did with the fly.
The shop keeper’s words caught my attention. He spoke, “How much, madam how much you want? Very fresh and juicy, please buy, for you only 300 rupees, buy 1 dozen.” Yes it was English! I had heard them speak chaste Marathi and pretty good Hindi but didn’t know they were versatile enough and spoke English. I craned to see who he was addressing in English. It was a Malaysian or perhaps some South Asian origin lady. She reminded me of my English teacher from Class 1. The Anglo Indian bob cut lady, impeccable in her dressings as well as her speech. Though she stooped a bit even when she was young, she used to bark at us, “Young Lady, back straight, sit upright, no stooping.” This lady too stooped but it was because of a back injury. She was wearing those back support belts over her frock. And the similarities didn’t end here, this lady too, each time she started her sentence cleared her throat – “Ahem.” She spoke in a loud and clear voice instructing the shop keeper, “I want 2 dozens of sweet limes. Pick the big ones with thin skins. And fill it in two separate bags. Give me some litchis but no cheating me in the weight.” The shop keeper with a sudden newfound adroitness started acting to her instructions to a T. After she satisfied with bagging her fruits went her way. The shop keeper passed the money to his assistant who without even looking at it shoved it inside a drawer. The shop keeper then completely changed his mannerisms; he was back to his usual coarse way. He went on to address another lady in Hindi. He took a bag, opened it as if he was tearing something and then picked 2-3 limes together and shoved them into the bag. The exact opposite to how he had given the sweet limes to the foreigner lady. He had tenderly picked each sweet lime as they were something delicate with just 2 fingers and then placed them inside the bag and not dropped. He appeared to be a practical guru as the best customized solution provider.
Suddenly, the shop keeper stretched his hand, grabbed 2 newspapers, and flung it over the wares and was back counting the money. I turned to see an old man who had handed him the papers now ride to the next shop and did the same. For once, he didn’t get down the cycle nor stop it. All the time he was in a constant slow motion, just pausing to pedal, pick a couple of newspapers drop them in the outstretched hands. He had bundles of Mid day and a Urdu daily in a basket attached to the handle of the cycle. Both the cycle and he appeared of the same age. He, a wrinkled old man and his cycle, battered and rusted iron machine. When he passed the fruit shop, I noticed him against the building wall. He seemed to actually compliment the ancient building structure, old but sturdy and proudly going about his usual routine. I didn’t see any of the shop keepers reading the newspapers, or even glancing at it. But it appeared as if each one was paying respect to an old man or continuing a tradition unknown to the outer world.
I turned back my attention to the shop keeper, multi tasking - speaking all the while to different customers, weighing the fruits, adding up the totals, offering fruits to be tasted, counting the money, handing the change and the bags. His hands, eyes, and body followed a strange kind of rhythm – mesmerizing me. He continued to lure the customers, addressing them – “Sir, buy these it’s priced at 40 but for you its 35, and I have juicy ripe mangoes too – the best ones its 400 but for you 350 and if you buy more than a dozen 300”. He kept on trying till he caught the attention of the customer. If they stopped and picked the mango when he described them as best and juicy, he continued with this aspect and described in detail how tasty and juicy they were. “Sir you will get this quality only at my shop. These are the juiciest one. If any of the mangoes is not tasty please return it to me, full money back. Guarantee I give each one will be sweetest.” If the customers turned and came after he reduced the price, he kept saying to them, “Sir you will get this quality for 400, if you get for less, I will return your money.” He kept proving his dexterity as the best customized solution provider. He was the best judge of the customers – shifting from Hindi to Marathi to English; from bragging about the quality to value for money. But he being a human had his shares of inaccuracies.
A man walked to the shop, not very rich nor poor from his appearance. Seemed he had enough money to buy at least 2-3 mangoes if not the entire dozen. The shop keeper immediately thrust a mango in the hand of the man saying “here buy it’s the best sweet lot - 400 a dozen”. The man took the mango and raised it to his face as if trying to smell. But the act of smelling turned out to be a thank you for the alms. He raised his hand to his forehead and bowed to the shop keeper. In a swift, the shop keeper realized his mistake snatched the mango but very softly murmured, “I mistook you for a customer, it’s for sale, go away”. His actions displayed anger and frustration but his voice sounded apologetic and calm – a conflict within whether he should share or sell. The beggar understood his predicament and moved forth with no resentment. Both were back to their business.
The shopkeeper started to attend to other customers. All the while, I was waiting to dig into some of the juicy litchis myself. And I finally gave into my temptation and started my shopping. I trusted him to pick the ripe, the good right ones for me and I just paid and bagged the goodies. I bought a whole lot of fruits – litchis, sweet limes, pears and even wanted the melons but realized it would be too much to carry as I had to buy vegetables for my neighbor too.
After the fruits, I went around buying the fresh inviting veggies and bagged all those goodies back home. Back home, there were more surprises in store, my neighbor kiddo, the 10 month old, was excited to see the litchis. He turned into a sweet cuddly puppy and followed me sans his wagging tail. I had a gala time feeding him litchis and after every bite he told me in his gibberish how much he loved them.
Satisfied with the day well spent, I made myself a glass of sweet lime juice, and sat writing the colorful day’s events for my blog. I realized, when I could have been cuddled with a book in my comfy couch, I choose to be participating in a workshop. I even willingly welcomed the chance of exploring a new part of the city – Shivaji Market. And it was worth all the effort.
First step:
Feedback: I find the pace at which you write very interesting and different from most of what i read today. It maybe due to your use of words and language in a particular way and using short sentences. I think this is your strength.
While i like the expanse of your experience i failed to get a 'feel' of anything in particular. Try and re-write it in a way that will be a personal voice...avoid being general and impersonal. Try and talk to your reader as if you are confiding in them (well almost) :-) and try to UNFOLD what perhaps those who go to the market would have missed to see. Soi (the reader and marketeer) would say "ah, i never saw that! Next time i will look for it)
Day out in the market!
From the familiar and frequented MG Road, I was led into the bylanes to a market place – called Shivaji Market. The actual market is housed inside an old ancient but prominent looking building. It reminded me of Shivaji’s fort, although architecturally it resembled a gothic era building far from being a fort. Within the walls, it housed various stalls that sold everything from fruits to vegetables, fish, mutton, beef and more and I even saw a grocery shop.
Now, instead of entering the inside, I settled for the outside stalls. These stalls surround the outer building areas and to my dismay I found that technically they were not part of the actual Shivaji Market. Nevertheless, it was a wonderland. To be very honest, the mutton and the fish thing kept me away from trying to even step inside the market place. But I don’t regret in being unable to take a peek in, for the last time I tried in another market, I actually ended up being sick with the smells. The smell didn’t leave me the entire week. It was torturous. So I made myself comfortable outside the gate, which led into the mutton section and a grocery store.
I soon forgot the sick feeling and was led into the enchanting land of colors. It was as if you are sitting amidst the rainbow. There were lines of stalls selling fruits of all kinds with the season’s best pick – mangoes in plenty. Opposite to them were stalls lined with vegetables. Strangely at the far end of the fruit stalls were bangle shops. Maybe they were part of another market or a trick in the wonderland.
The wooden stalls were covered on top with the brightest colored sheets, mostly the kind of sheets you get in Rajasthan and Gujarat. Underneath the sheets, the wooden stilts were lined with rows of similar light bulbs. A vegetable vendor had covered his section of the bamboo with Indian Flags and they fluttered proudly. The colorful sheets filtered the sun rays and gave the street below an orange and reddish glow. The narrow lane was frequented with passing two wheelers and an occasional auto rickshaw but mostly by passer-bys and shoppers. The shoppers walked at a slower pace eyeing each goodie and stopping by to purchase. The daily commuters – the brisk walkers, passed by oblivious of any other existence, but the road leading them to their destination.
I sat there eyeing the goodies prominently displayed at their best in neatly arranged stacks. Colorful pyramids of apples varying from the shades of deep red to rosy red to faint pink, cantaloupes of all shapes and sizes some even twins, watermelons the dark green stripped ones and the dull lighter green– ovals and circles of these juicy baseballs, green and yellow papayas, inviting juicy litchis tied in bunches, dark green pears chiseled to perfect shape, thick skinned pineapples neatly stacked with their green crowns pointing upwards, juicy green sweet limes and oranges along with fresh figs, but the king of fruits beat them all – stacks of tempting ripe mangoes light yellow to deep yellow.
Although I sat next to an open drainage, all I could smell was the ripe mangoes, pineapples, occasional waft of the litchis, and limes. I really didn’t mind the sweet smells and hoped they stayed with me for a week or even more. I was startled, when a cat appeared from among the fruits shoo away by the seller. It jumped and ran inside the market. Who cares about fruits, it’s gonna feast on some nice fish today. Good luck. I bade her adieu and turned my head to find a tiny house fly resting on a ripe mango. The fly was left alone by the seller, maybe the seller didn’t even notice it or turned a blind eye to its existence. The moment I had arrived into the market, the shop keepers greeted me as a prospective customer trying to woo me to check out their wares, but when they realized I was here for a different purpose they were curious to know. I explained them that I was here to do a story and was soon greeted with excited shop keepers. Word spread quickly and I was offered a seat on a chair and some shop keepers came with ideas - “Make him the villain and myself the Hero”, “Do you need more characters, I could get my kids.” And then left me alone to sit there and watch them. They went back to attending their customers. To them, maybe I appeared like the innocuous fly rather than the hostile cat.
The shop keepers were well versed with Hindi, Marathi and even English. It made me wonder, if foreigners frequented this place. And as if out of the blue, came the answer in the form of an old lady probably Malaysian or South Asian origin going through the wares. She received attention from each shop keeper who tried their best to lure her into their shop. I recalled when I had visited a local market where I was a foreigner and was treated the same way. The shop keepers actually came out off their shops and stopped to ask me if I was a ‘Hindi’ – a term they used to refer the Indians and then out of the blue performed a jig from an Amitabh Movie and cried, “she is come from the land of Amitabh Bachan”. My first few days I was in for a shock every time they danced but soon got used to it and even on insistence ended up accompanying the lady and performed a jig in a public toilet.
I left the lady to be treated as a princess and turned my head to catch a glimpse of an old man riding a battered cycle aged same as him. He was selling newspapers –bundles of Mid day and a Urdu daily filled his basket. He seemed to actually compliment the ancient building structure, old but sturdy and proudly going about his usual routine. He stopped at the usual shops and handed the newspapers. The shop keepers in between to taking money, or haggling with the customers, stretched their hands, took the newspaper and flung it over their wares. I didn’t see any of them reading them, or even glancing at them. It seemed that each one there was paying respect to an old man or continuing a tradition unknown to the outer world.
The shop keepers were busy luring the customers, addressing them – “Buy these it’s priced at 40 but for you its 35, and juicy ripe mangoes – the best ones its 400 but for you 350 and if you buy more than a dozen 300”. They offered irresistible great deals and best picks. They were all multi tasking - speaking all the while to different customers, weighing the fruits, adding up the totals, offering fruits to be tasted, counting the money, handing the change and the bags. Their hands, eyes and body followed a strange kind of rhythm – mesmerizing me.
Well sometimes they did end up luring the wrong set of customers too. Like this shop keeper thrust a mango in the hand of the man saying “here buy it’s the best sweet lot - 400 a dozen”. The man took the mango and what appeared to be the act of smelling turned out to be a thank you for the alms. In a swift, the shop keeper realized his mistake snatched the mango and drove the man away. But, all this transpired in a dignified style. The shop keeper said softly, “I mistook you for a customer, it’s for sale, go away”. There was absolute no exchange of any swearing or a display of anger or mockery, simply fact said as is. The beggar understood and moved forth with no resentment. Both were back to their business.
The shopkeeper started to attend to other customers. All the while, I was waiting to dig into some of the juicy litchis myself. And I finally stood up and started my shopping. I trusted them to pick the ripe, the good right ones for me and I just paid them and bagged the goodies. I bought a whole lot of them – litchis, sweet limes, pears and even wanted the melons but realized it would be too much to carry as I had to buy vegetables for my neighbor too.
After the fruits, I went around buying the fresh inviting veggies and bagged all those goodies back home. Well there were more surprises in store for me, my neighbor kiddo, the 10 month old was excited to see the litchis. He turned into a sweet cuddly puppy and followed me sans his wagging tail. I had a gala time feeding him litchis and after every bite he told me in his gibberish how much he liked them.
Satisfied with the day well spent, I made myself a glass of sweet lime juice, and sat writing the colorful day’s events for my blog. I realized, when I could have been cuddled with a book in my comfy couch, I choose to be participating in a workshop. I even willingly welcomed the chance of exploring a new part of the city – Shivaji Market. And it was worth all the effort!
Third Step:
Feedback:
"Fruitful" Day
From the familiar and frequented MG Road, I was led into the by lanes to a market place – called Shivaji Market. As it was named after ‘Shivaji’, I visualized a fortress housing the market. Something similar to the Meena Bazaar inside the Red Fort, Delhi. I was pleasantly surprised to find a magnificent gothic era building, instead, tucked neatly in the inner lanes. Inside it housed various stalls that sold everything from fruits to vegetables, fish, mutton, beef and more and even grocery. Massive grilled gates served as the entrance and exit to the building. Even though there were plenty of gates, not all of them were left open. I assumed it was done for security reasons or perhaps the caretaker of the market couldn’t find enough man power to lock and open the door, or perhaps on a lighter vein, they couldn’t carry the massive bundle of keys. Whatever could be the reason; one could peek inside the building through the gates and view the happenings inside.
A road ran along the outer walls of the building. On the road, I spotted a few stalls and inquisitively decided to take a look around and then enter inside. From the gates, I could see cheap tin boards pointing the location of the stalls with the stall number and item sold written. Inside a closed gate, a couple of excited crows were feasting on tidbits. It could be mutton or beef pieces, for the air were filled with rancid odor. The wall held a sign board – “Stall 5, Mutton Shop”; and I was proven right. Impetuously, I decided not to enter the building. I have nothing against the non-vegetarians but I myself find the smell of meat offensive and sickening. The last time I entered another marketplace which sold meat, it took me an entire week and bottles of essential bathing oils to get rid of the smell. I started walking briskly and suddenly the whole place seemed to come alive in the form of stalls selling every sort of vegetables and fruits that one could imagine. I soon forgot the sick feeling as I was led into an enchanting land.
Lined along the outer walls of the building were stalls selling fruits of all shapes and sizes – round, oblong, square with the season’s best pick – mangoes in plenty. Opposite to them were stalls lined with fresh vegetables. The narrow lane left in between was frequented with passing two wheelers and an occasional auto rickshaw but mostly by passer-bys and shoppers. The shoppers strolled glancing each goodie and stopping by to purchase a few. The daily commuters – the brisk walkers, passed by oblivious of any other existence, but the road leading to their destination. To my dismay, technically these stalls were not part of the actual Shivaji Market, as they were located outside the building. Nevertheless, I decided to explore the wonderland sporting the mélange of colors steaming with the exotic flavors of fruits and vegetables.
The stalls were surrounded by wooden stilts which held the roof. The stilts had coils of electrical wires at the end of which dangled electric bulbs. It was same everywhere except a single vegetable vendor who had draped his section of the stilt with Indian tricolors – the only proud Indian.
The roof above –in fact were bright colored sheets, the kinds you get in Rajasthan and Gujarat, tied by their ends to the stilts. The rectangle pieces of cloth – fiery orange, deadly crimson, not only formed the roof but also filtered the sun rays. The grim tar street below glowed with an orange-reddish hue. The light played upon the colors of fruits and vegetables, prominently displayed at their best in neatly arranged stacks, exaggerating their natural shades. They appeared at times colored with fierce, harsh, brilliantly exploding shades. The pyramids of apples varying from shades of deep red to rosy red to faint pink, dull yellow cantaloupes, some even twins, watermelons - dark green stripped ones and dull lighter green– ovals and circles of these juicy baseballs, green and yellow papayas, inviting red juicy litchis tied in bunches, dark green pears chiseled to perfect shape, thick skinned grayish yellow pineapples neatly stacked with their green crowns pointing upwards, juicy green sweet limes and oranges along with fresh figs, but the king of fruits beat them all – stacks of tempting ripe mangoes light yellow to deep orange.
At the far end of the fruit stalls, there were bangle shops, not quite sure whether they were part of Shivaji Market, but they neatly blended with the riot of colors. Enroute, I had seen a board through a gate, “Bismillah Provision and Grocery Store”, which meant this market, was a one stop for everyday needs. And now the bangle shop – so as to provide a complete shopping experience. The colors from the fruits and vegetables and pulses would go away once cooked and eaten but the bangles would adorn the hands and remind of the colors.
Well the wonderland had its share of filth and dirt. But what I choose was the beautiful colors and ignored the blacks, browns and grey. I sat next to an open drainage, in other occasions I would have distanced myself from the very place but somehow the riot of colors and the smells from the ripe mangoes, pineapples, occasional waft of the litchis and limes seemed to overpower everything around. I really didn’t mind the sweet smells and hoped they lingered with me for a week or even more.
I stood there enraptured with the beauty around and was startled, when a cat appeared from nowhere among the fruits. The shop keeper shooed it away with a frantic wave of his hand and a barely audible ‘Shoo’. The cat jumped from the stall, paused, and turned around looking at the shop keeper, and with a smirk seemed to tell, “Hey cool it man, I have nothing to do with your fruits. I am going to have a feast on some nice fish today. Eat your fruits yourself.” Having said this it made its way straight into the market gate and vanished inside the building. I wished it good luck and bade adieu. I turned my head to find a tiny house fly resting on a ripe mango. The shop keeper satisfied that he had driven the cat, took a glimpse of the fly, and then as if ignoring its mere existence turned to attend his customers. The fly was left alone and so was I. The moment I arrived into the market, the shop keepers greeted me as a prospective customer trying to woo me to check out their wares, but when they realized I was here for a different purpose they were curious to know. I explained them that I was here to do a story and was greeted with excited shop keepers. Word spread quickly and I was offered a seat on a chair and some shop keepers came with ideas - “Make him the villain and myself the Hero”, “Do you need more characters, I could get my kids.” And then as suddenly as they had descended on me they vanished and left me alone. To them, maybe I appeared more like the innocuous fly rather than the hostile cat. They registered my presence and once assured that I am not deterrent to their work left me on my own, as they did with the fly.
The shop keeper’s words caught my attention. He spoke, “How much, madam how much you want? Very fresh and juicy, please buy, for you only 300 rupees, buy 1 dozen.” Yes it was English! I had heard them speak chaste Marathi and pretty good Hindi but didn’t know they were versatile enough and spoke English. I craned to see who he was addressing in English. It was a Malaysian or perhaps some South Asian origin lady. She reminded me of my English teacher from Class 1. The Anglo Indian bob cut lady, impeccable in her dressings as well as her speech. Though she stooped a bit even when she was young, she used to bark at us, “Young Lady, back straight, sit upright, no stooping.” This lady too stooped but it was because of a back injury. She was wearing those back support belts over her frock. And the similarities didn’t end here, this lady too, each time she started her sentence cleared her throat – “Ahem.” She spoke in a loud and clear voice instructing the shop keeper, “I want 2 dozens of sweet limes. Pick the big ones with thin skins. And fill it in two separate bags. Give me some litchis but no cheating me in the weight.” The shop keeper with a sudden newfound adroitness started acting to her instructions to a T. After she satisfied with bagging her fruits went her way. The shop keeper passed the money to his assistant who without even looking at it shoved it inside a drawer. The shop keeper then completely changed his mannerisms; he was back to his usual coarse way. He went on to address another lady in Hindi. He took a bag, opened it as if he was tearing something and then picked 2-3 limes together and shoved them into the bag. The exact opposite to how he had given the sweet limes to the foreigner lady. He had tenderly picked each sweet lime as they were something delicate with just 2 fingers and then placed them inside the bag and not dropped. He appeared to be a practical guru as the best customized solution provider. Suddenly, the shop keeper stretched his hand, grabbed 2 newspapers, and flung it over the wares and was back counting the money.
I turned to see an old man who had handed him the papers now ride to the next shop and did the same. For once, he didn’t get down the cycle nor stop it. All the time he was in a constant slow motion, just pausing to pedal, pick a couple of newspapers drop them in the outstretched hands. He had bundles of Mid day and a Urdu daily in a basket attached to the handle of the cycle. Both the cycle and he appeared of the same age. He, a wrinkled old man and his cycle, battered and rusted iron machine. When he passed the fruit shop, I noticed him against the building wall. He seemed to actually compliment the ancient building structure, old but sturdy and proudly going about his usual routine. I didn’t see any of the shop keepers reading the newspapers, or even glancing at it. But it appeared as if each one was paying respect to an old man or continuing a tradition unknown to the outer world. I turned back my attention to the shop keeper, multi tasking - speaking all the while to different customers, weighing the fruits, adding up the totals, offering fruits to be tasted, counting the money, handing the change and the bags. His hands, eyes, and body followed a strange kind of rhythm – mesmerizing me. He continued to lure the customers, addressing them – “Sir, buy these it’s priced at 40 but for you its 35, and I have juicy ripe mangoes too – the best ones its 400 but for you 350 and if you buy more than a dozen 300”. He kept on trying till he caught the attention of the customer. If they stopped and picked the mango when he described them as best and juicy, he continued with this aspect and described in detail how tasty and juicy they were. “Sir you will get this quality only at my shop. These are the juiciest one. If any of the mangoes is not tasty please return it to me, full money back. Guarantee I give each one will be sweetest.” If the customers turned and came after he reduced the price, he kept saying to them, “Sir you will get this quality for 400, if you get for less, I will return your money.” He kept proving his dexterity as the best customized solution provider. He was the best judge of the customers – shifting from Hindi to Marathi to English; from bragging about the quality to value for money. But he being a human had his shares of inaccuracies.
A man walked to the shop, not very rich nor poor from his appearance. Seemed he had enough money to buy at least 2-3 mangoes if not the entire dozen. The shop keeper immediately thrust a mango in the hand of the man saying “here buy it’s the best sweet lot - 400 a dozen”. The man took the mango and raised it to his face as if trying to smell. But the act of smelling turned out to be a thank you for the alms. He raised his hand to his forehead and bowed to the shop keeper. In a swift, the shop keeper realized his mistake snatched the mango but very softly murmured, “I mistook you for a customer, it’s for sale, go away”. His actions displayed anger and frustration but his voice sounded apologetic and calm – a conflict within whether he should share or sell. The beggar understood his predicament and moved forth with no resentment. Both were back to their business. The shopkeeper started to attend to other customers.
All the while, I was waiting to dig into some of the juicy litchis myself. And I finally gave into my temptation and started my shopping. I trusted him to pick the ripe, the good right ones for me and I just paid and bagged the goodies. I bought a whole lot of fruits – litchis, sweet limes, pears and even wanted the melons but realized it would be too much to carry as I had to buy vegetables for my neighbor too. After the fruits, I went around buying the fresh inviting veggies and bagged all those goodies back home.
Back home, there were more surprises in store, my neighbor kiddo, the 10 month old, was excited to see the litchis. He transformed into a sweet cuddly puppy and followed me sans his wagging tail. I had a gala time feeding him litchis and after every bite he told me in his gibberish how much he loved them.
Satisfied with the day well spent, I made myself a glass of sweet lime juice, and sat writing the colorful day’s events for my blog. I realized, when I could have been cuddled with a book in my comfy couch, I choose to be participating in a workshop. I even willingly welcomed the chance of exploring a new part of the city – Shivaji Market. And it was worth all the effort – to sum it up a “fruitful” day.
Second step:
Feedback: I have made an attempt to enter your world of colours and rainbow and find , half way through, that the colours are blurring for me. :-)
Check the comments i have made and perhaps give your piece one more shot. See if you can make it richer and finer in the ways suggested and in your own ways.
"Fruitful" Day
From the familiar and frequented MG Road, I was led into the by lanes to a market place – called Shivaji Market. As it was named after ‘Shivaji’, I visualized a fortress housing the market. Something similar to the Meena Bazaar inside the Red Fort, Delhi. I was pleasantly surprised to find a magnificent gothic era building
instead. This building tucked neatly in the inner lanes housed various stalls that sold everything from fruits to vegetables, fish, mutton, beef and more and even a grocery store. The building had many gates, mostly closed baring a few open ones. The grilled gates gave the view of the happenings inside the campus. A road ran along the outer walls of the building. Instead of entering inside, I decided to walk around the building. (establish purpose, why did you decide to wlk around and so on...)
instead. This building tucked neatly in the inner lanes housed various stalls that sold everything from fruits to vegetables, fish, mutton, beef and more and even a grocery store. The building had many gates, mostly closed baring a few open ones. The grilled gates gave the view of the happenings inside the campus. A road ran along the outer walls of the building. Instead of entering inside, I decided to walk around the building. (establish purpose, why did you decide to wlk around and so on...)
As I passed along the gates, I could see boards with direction of the
stall, the stall number and item sold. At one of the closed gates, I
saw a couple of crows feasting on some tidbits. I could smell meat and
I assumed them to be biting into mutton or beef pieces. At that
moment, I had decided not to enter the building. I have nothing
against the non-vegetarians but I myself find the smell of meat
I recall having tried to get over this and enter another marketplace which sold meat. It took me an entire week and bottles of essential bathing oils to get rid of the smell. I started walking briskly and suddenly the whole place seemed to come alive in the form of stalls selling vegetables and fruits.
I soon forgot the sick feeling as I was led into the enchanting landof (rainbows) colors – entering (colours) the rainbow. Lined along the outer walls of the building were stalls selling fruits of all kinds with the season’sbest pick – mangoes in plenty. Opposite to them were stalls lined with
I soon forgot the sick feeling as I was led into the enchanting land of colors – entering the rainbow. Lined along the outer walls of the building were stalls selling fruits of all kinds with the season’s best pick – mangoes in plenty. Opposite to them were stalls lined with fresh vegetables. It was a wonderland and I choose to settle somewhere among these stalls. To my dismay I found that technically these stalls were not part of the actual Shivaji Market, as they were located outside the building. Nevertheless, I decided to explore this wonderland. Strangely at the far end of the fruit stalls I noticed bangle shops. I am unsure whether they were part of Shivaji Market or a trick in the wonderland.
The stalls were covered on top with the brightest sheets, mostly the kinds you get in Rajasthan and Gujarat – they were a riot of colors. Underneath the sheets, the wooden stilts provided support to the roof. Across these stilts, electrical wires were coiled with electric bulbs dangling at their end. I assumed that the market functioned even during night or maybe a few hours past sunset. It was same everywhere except a single vegetable vendor had draped his section of the stilt with Indian tricolors – the only proud Indian.
The colorful sheets formed the roof for the stalls and also filtered the sun rays and gave the street below an orange-reddish glow. The narrow lane was frequented with passing two wheelers and an occasional auto rickshaw but mostly by passer-bys and shoppers. The shoppers strolled glancing each goodie and stopping by to purchase a few. The daily commuters – the brisk walkers, passed by oblivious of any other existence, but the road leading to their destination.
I sat in front of a gate which led to stalls selling mutton and a grocery store. Well the wonderland had its share of filth and dirt. But what I choose was the beautiful colors and ignored the blacks, browns and grey. I sat next to an open drainage, in other occasions I would have distanced myself from the very place but somehow the riot of colors and the smells from the ripe mangoes, pineapples, occasional waft of the litchis and limes seemed to overpower everything around. I really didn’t mind the sweet smells and hoped they lingered with me for a week or even more.
I sat there mesmerized eyeing everything around curious and excited as a kid. The fruits and vegetables were prominently displayed at their best in neatly arranged stacks. Colorful pyramids of apples varying from the shades of deep red to rosy red to faint pink, cantaloupes of all shapes and sizes some even twins, watermelons the dark green stripped ones and the dull lighter green– ovals and circles of these juicy baseballs, green and yellow papayas, inviting juicy litchis tied in bunches, dark green pears chiseled to perfect shape, thick skinned pineapples neatly stacked with their green crowns pointing upwards, juicy green sweet limes and oranges along with fresh figs, but the king of fruits beat them all – stacks of tempting ripe mangoes light yellow to deep yellow.
I was overwhelmed with the beauty around and was startled, when a cat appeared from nowhere among the fruits. The shop keeper shooed it away with a frantic wave of his hand and a barely audible ‘Shoo’. The cat jumped down from the stall and turned to look around to the shop keeper, and with a smirk seemed to tell, “Hey cool it man, I have nothing to do with your fruits. I am going to have a feast on some nice fish today. Eat your fruits yourself. “It made its way straight into the market gate and vanished inside the building. I wished it good luck and bade adieu.
I turned my head to find a tiny house fly resting on a ripe mango. The shop keeper satisfied that he had driven the cat, took a glimpse of the fly, and then as if ignoring its mere existence turned to attend his customers. The fly was left alone and so was I. The moment I arrived into the market, the shop keepers greeted me as a prospective customer trying to woo me to check out their wares, but when they realized I was here for a different purpose they were curious to know. I explained them that I was here to do a story and was greeted with excited shop keepers. Word spread quickly and I was offered a seat on a chair and some shop keepers came with ideas - “Make him the villain and myself the Hero”, “Do you need more characters, I could get my kids.” And then as suddenly as they had descended on me they vanished and left me alone. To them, maybe I appeared more like the innocuous fly rather than the hostile cat. They registered my presence and once assured that I am not deterrent to their work left me on my own, as they did with the fly.
The shop keeper’s words caught my attention. He spoke, “How much, madam how much you want? Very fresh and juicy, please buy, for you only 300 rupees, buy 1 dozen.” Yes it was English! I had heard them speak chaste Marathi and pretty good Hindi but didn’t know they were versatile enough and spoke English. I craned to see who he was addressing in English. It was a Malaysian or perhaps some South Asian origin lady. She reminded me of my English teacher from Class 1. The Anglo Indian bob cut lady, impeccable in her dressings as well as her speech. Though she stooped a bit even when she was young, she used to bark at us, “Young Lady, back straight, sit upright, no stooping.” This lady too stooped but it was because of a back injury. She was wearing those back support belts over her frock. And the similarities didn’t end here, this lady too, each time she started her sentence cleared her throat – “Ahem.” She spoke in a loud and clear voice instructing the shop keeper, “I want 2 dozens of sweet limes. Pick the big ones with thin skins. And fill it in two separate bags. Give me some litchis but no cheating me in the weight.” The shop keeper with a sudden newfound adroitness started acting to her instructions to a T. After she satisfied with bagging her fruits went her way. The shop keeper passed the money to his assistant who without even looking at it shoved it inside a drawer. The shop keeper then completely changed his mannerisms; he was back to his usual coarse way. He went on to address another lady in Hindi. He took a bag, opened it as if he was tearing something and then picked 2-3 limes together and shoved them into the bag. The exact opposite to how he had given the sweet limes to the foreigner lady. He had tenderly picked each sweet lime as they were something delicate with just 2 fingers and then placed them inside the bag and not dropped. He appeared to be a practical guru as the best customized solution provider.
Suddenly, the shop keeper stretched his hand, grabbed 2 newspapers, and flung it over the wares and was back counting the money. I turned to see an old man who had handed him the papers now ride to the next shop and did the same. For once, he didn’t get down the cycle nor stop it. All the time he was in a constant slow motion, just pausing to pedal, pick a couple of newspapers drop them in the outstretched hands. He had bundles of Mid day and a Urdu daily in a basket attached to the handle of the cycle. Both the cycle and he appeared of the same age. He, a wrinkled old man and his cycle, battered and rusted iron machine. When he passed the fruit shop, I noticed him against the building wall. He seemed to actually compliment the ancient building structure, old but sturdy and proudly going about his usual routine. I didn’t see any of the shop keepers reading the newspapers, or even glancing at it. But it appeared as if each one was paying respect to an old man or continuing a tradition unknown to the outer world.
I turned back my attention to the shop keeper, multi tasking - speaking all the while to different customers, weighing the fruits, adding up the totals, offering fruits to be tasted, counting the money, handing the change and the bags. His hands, eyes, and body followed a strange kind of rhythm – mesmerizing me. He continued to lure the customers, addressing them – “Sir, buy these it’s priced at 40 but for you its 35, and I have juicy ripe mangoes too – the best ones its 400 but for you 350 and if you buy more than a dozen 300”. He kept on trying till he caught the attention of the customer. If they stopped and picked the mango when he described them as best and juicy, he continued with this aspect and described in detail how tasty and juicy they were. “Sir you will get this quality only at my shop. These are the juiciest one. If any of the mangoes is not tasty please return it to me, full money back. Guarantee I give each one will be sweetest.” If the customers turned and came after he reduced the price, he kept saying to them, “Sir you will get this quality for 400, if you get for less, I will return your money.” He kept proving his dexterity as the best customized solution provider. He was the best judge of the customers – shifting from Hindi to Marathi to English; from bragging about the quality to value for money. But he being a human had his shares of inaccuracies.
A man walked to the shop, not very rich nor poor from his appearance. Seemed he had enough money to buy at least 2-3 mangoes if not the entire dozen. The shop keeper immediately thrust a mango in the hand of the man saying “here buy it’s the best sweet lot - 400 a dozen”. The man took the mango and raised it to his face as if trying to smell. But the act of smelling turned out to be a thank you for the alms. He raised his hand to his forehead and bowed to the shop keeper. In a swift, the shop keeper realized his mistake snatched the mango but very softly murmured, “I mistook you for a customer, it’s for sale, go away”. His actions displayed anger and frustration but his voice sounded apologetic and calm – a conflict within whether he should share or sell. The beggar understood his predicament and moved forth with no resentment. Both were back to their business.
The shopkeeper started to attend to other customers. All the while, I was waiting to dig into some of the juicy litchis myself. And I finally gave into my temptation and started my shopping. I trusted him to pick the ripe, the good right ones for me and I just paid and bagged the goodies. I bought a whole lot of fruits – litchis, sweet limes, pears and even wanted the melons but realized it would be too much to carry as I had to buy vegetables for my neighbor too.
After the fruits, I went around buying the fresh inviting veggies and bagged all those goodies back home. Back home, there were more surprises in store, my neighbor kiddo, the 10 month old, was excited to see the litchis. He turned into a sweet cuddly puppy and followed me sans his wagging tail. I had a gala time feeding him litchis and after every bite he told me in his gibberish how much he loved them.
Satisfied with the day well spent, I made myself a glass of sweet lime juice, and sat writing the colorful day’s events for my blog. I realized, when I could have been cuddled with a book in my comfy couch, I choose to be participating in a workshop. I even willingly welcomed the chance of exploring a new part of the city – Shivaji Market. And it was worth all the effort.
First step:
Feedback: I find the pace at which you write very interesting and different from most of what i read today. It maybe due to your use of words and language in a particular way and using short sentences. I think this is your strength.
While i like the expanse of your experience i failed to get a 'feel' of anything in particular. Try and re-write it in a way that will be a personal voice...avoid being general and impersonal. Try and talk to your reader as if you are confiding in them (well almost) :-) and try to UNFOLD what perhaps those who go to the market would have missed to see. Soi (the reader and marketeer) would say "ah, i never saw that! Next time i will look for it)
Day out in the market!
From the familiar and frequented MG Road, I was led into the bylanes to a market place – called Shivaji Market. The actual market is housed inside an old ancient but prominent looking building. It reminded me of Shivaji’s fort, although architecturally it resembled a gothic era building far from being a fort. Within the walls, it housed various stalls that sold everything from fruits to vegetables, fish, mutton, beef and more and I even saw a grocery shop.
Now, instead of entering the inside, I settled for the outside stalls. These stalls surround the outer building areas and to my dismay I found that technically they were not part of the actual Shivaji Market. Nevertheless, it was a wonderland. To be very honest, the mutton and the fish thing kept me away from trying to even step inside the market place. But I don’t regret in being unable to take a peek in, for the last time I tried in another market, I actually ended up being sick with the smells. The smell didn’t leave me the entire week. It was torturous. So I made myself comfortable outside the gate, which led into the mutton section and a grocery store.
I soon forgot the sick feeling and was led into the enchanting land of colors. It was as if you are sitting amidst the rainbow. There were lines of stalls selling fruits of all kinds with the season’s best pick – mangoes in plenty. Opposite to them were stalls lined with vegetables. Strangely at the far end of the fruit stalls were bangle shops. Maybe they were part of another market or a trick in the wonderland.
The wooden stalls were covered on top with the brightest colored sheets, mostly the kind of sheets you get in Rajasthan and Gujarat. Underneath the sheets, the wooden stilts were lined with rows of similar light bulbs. A vegetable vendor had covered his section of the bamboo with Indian Flags and they fluttered proudly. The colorful sheets filtered the sun rays and gave the street below an orange and reddish glow. The narrow lane was frequented with passing two wheelers and an occasional auto rickshaw but mostly by passer-bys and shoppers. The shoppers walked at a slower pace eyeing each goodie and stopping by to purchase. The daily commuters – the brisk walkers, passed by oblivious of any other existence, but the road leading them to their destination.
I sat there eyeing the goodies prominently displayed at their best in neatly arranged stacks. Colorful pyramids of apples varying from the shades of deep red to rosy red to faint pink, cantaloupes of all shapes and sizes some even twins, watermelons the dark green stripped ones and the dull lighter green– ovals and circles of these juicy baseballs, green and yellow papayas, inviting juicy litchis tied in bunches, dark green pears chiseled to perfect shape, thick skinned pineapples neatly stacked with their green crowns pointing upwards, juicy green sweet limes and oranges along with fresh figs, but the king of fruits beat them all – stacks of tempting ripe mangoes light yellow to deep yellow.
Although I sat next to an open drainage, all I could smell was the ripe mangoes, pineapples, occasional waft of the litchis, and limes. I really didn’t mind the sweet smells and hoped they stayed with me for a week or even more. I was startled, when a cat appeared from among the fruits shoo away by the seller. It jumped and ran inside the market. Who cares about fruits, it’s gonna feast on some nice fish today. Good luck. I bade her adieu and turned my head to find a tiny house fly resting on a ripe mango. The fly was left alone by the seller, maybe the seller didn’t even notice it or turned a blind eye to its existence. The moment I had arrived into the market, the shop keepers greeted me as a prospective customer trying to woo me to check out their wares, but when they realized I was here for a different purpose they were curious to know. I explained them that I was here to do a story and was soon greeted with excited shop keepers. Word spread quickly and I was offered a seat on a chair and some shop keepers came with ideas - “Make him the villain and myself the Hero”, “Do you need more characters, I could get my kids.” And then left me alone to sit there and watch them. They went back to attending their customers. To them, maybe I appeared like the innocuous fly rather than the hostile cat.
The shop keepers were well versed with Hindi, Marathi and even English. It made me wonder, if foreigners frequented this place. And as if out of the blue, came the answer in the form of an old lady probably Malaysian or South Asian origin going through the wares. She received attention from each shop keeper who tried their best to lure her into their shop. I recalled when I had visited a local market where I was a foreigner and was treated the same way. The shop keepers actually came out off their shops and stopped to ask me if I was a ‘Hindi’ – a term they used to refer the Indians and then out of the blue performed a jig from an Amitabh Movie and cried, “she is come from the land of Amitabh Bachan”. My first few days I was in for a shock every time they danced but soon got used to it and even on insistence ended up accompanying the lady and performed a jig in a public toilet.
I left the lady to be treated as a princess and turned my head to catch a glimpse of an old man riding a battered cycle aged same as him. He was selling newspapers –bundles of Mid day and a Urdu daily filled his basket. He seemed to actually compliment the ancient building structure, old but sturdy and proudly going about his usual routine. He stopped at the usual shops and handed the newspapers. The shop keepers in between to taking money, or haggling with the customers, stretched their hands, took the newspaper and flung it over their wares. I didn’t see any of them reading them, or even glancing at them. It seemed that each one there was paying respect to an old man or continuing a tradition unknown to the outer world.
The shop keepers were busy luring the customers, addressing them – “Buy these it’s priced at 40 but for you its 35, and juicy ripe mangoes – the best ones its 400 but for you 350 and if you buy more than a dozen 300”. They offered irresistible great deals and best picks. They were all multi tasking - speaking all the while to different customers, weighing the fruits, adding up the totals, offering fruits to be tasted, counting the money, handing the change and the bags. Their hands, eyes and body followed a strange kind of rhythm – mesmerizing me.
Well sometimes they did end up luring the wrong set of customers too. Like this shop keeper thrust a mango in the hand of the man saying “here buy it’s the best sweet lot - 400 a dozen”. The man took the mango and what appeared to be the act of smelling turned out to be a thank you for the alms. In a swift, the shop keeper realized his mistake snatched the mango and drove the man away. But, all this transpired in a dignified style. The shop keeper said softly, “I mistook you for a customer, it’s for sale, go away”. There was absolute no exchange of any swearing or a display of anger or mockery, simply fact said as is. The beggar understood and moved forth with no resentment. Both were back to their business.
The shopkeeper started to attend to other customers. All the while, I was waiting to dig into some of the juicy litchis myself. And I finally stood up and started my shopping. I trusted them to pick the ripe, the good right ones for me and I just paid them and bagged the goodies. I bought a whole lot of them – litchis, sweet limes, pears and even wanted the melons but realized it would be too much to carry as I had to buy vegetables for my neighbor too.
After the fruits, I went around buying the fresh inviting veggies and bagged all those goodies back home. Well there were more surprises in store for me, my neighbor kiddo, the 10 month old was excited to see the litchis. He turned into a sweet cuddly puppy and followed me sans his wagging tail. I had a gala time feeding him litchis and after every bite he told me in his gibberish how much he liked them.
Satisfied with the day well spent, I made myself a glass of sweet lime juice, and sat writing the colorful day’s events for my blog. I realized, when I could have been cuddled with a book in my comfy couch, I choose to be participating in a workshop. I even willingly welcomed the chance of exploring a new part of the city – Shivaji Market. And it was worth all the effort!
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