An Indian Bazaar by Susan Miles

In the city of Ahmedabad, in the west India state of Guyarat, the streets, roads and alleys pulse with people, traffic and everyday life. A barber gives his reclining customer a shave at his pavement business, the nearby shady tree providing both welcome relief from the sun and a convenient place to hang the barber’s mirror; A cyclist balances a pile of foam mattresses on his simple cart as he skillfully navigates the hectic traffic and in the old part of the city, through the triple arched gateway the drama, the action and the humor of the market bazaar is in full swing.

Along the main thoroughfare of Tankaria Road, stalls stocked with linens, children’s toys and colorful bracelets fight for space on the narrow pavement. On the opposite side, cavernous stores overflow with displays of flowing saris, garlands of wedding flowers and decorative embroidered shawls. As I weave my way between this colorful chaos, fighting to keep my footing on this hot, humid Saturday morning, the enthusiastic owners fight for my attention and my business. Greetings of “Good morning”, “Please come”, “Welcome, come and look”, bombard me from left, right and centre.

From both the stall owners and my fellow shoppers, I am repeatedly fired two questions as I browse the displays, “What is your name?” and “What is your country?”, it sure beats the standard “next please” and “have a nice day” I get on visiting my local supermarket.

The spice stall is hard to walk past, not just for the delicious smells but color displays of the grounded spices piled in peaked mounds. The array resembles an artists palate with the vibrant yellows of the cinnamon and ginger, the lush greens of the curry leaf and the intense red of the grounded chili. It is also hard to forgo the invitation to sample the strips of dried mango and sweetened ginger. While savoring the flavors of these Indian sweets another series of questions is fired at me from a passing shopper. A confident young university student takes the opportunity to practice his English and engage me in a conversation on his studies (engineering), my country (he is like many young Indian men, a fan of the Australian Cricket team) and my opinion of India. As a former English language teacher, I am thrilled by the confidence and enthusiasm to practice conversational English by everyone I encounter in the Ahmedabad Bazaar, from the junior high students to the young adults. Browsing and shopping is suspended as I answer questions and learn the interests and amusements of my new young friends, their smiling parents look on with pride as an impromptu English lesson takes place between the spices and the saris.

I leave the wide paved streets and roads of the bazaar and dive into the narrow alleyways where further delights are revealed. Peering over the sari-clad teenage girls and their mothers, I am intrigued by the intricate designs of the silver bracelets, hair ornaments and heavy neck plates. With only days to the annual Navratri Festival, a nine night dance spectacular that sees young women adorn elaborate jewels and colorful sari’s to dance the night away, the intense scrutiny of the jewelry stalls is understandable.

But away from the talkative students, the sparkling jewelry and the colorful spices it is the display of the flowing silks, embroidered cottons in the window of the sari stores that is enticing enough to struggle out of my dusty shoes at the door and enter. Shopping in India has some quirky differences from the west. Upon choosing a simple cotton burgundy sari with gold detail for just 190 Rupee ($6-00) I am invited to sit on the padded floor as the “good stuff” is rolled out. While tempted by the colors that swim and blend together in the silk sari’s, my polite decline to purchase is happily accepted and my admiration for the beauty and artistry of the material rewarded with a view of some stunning floral chiffon with the comment “just to look, not to buy”.

There is something incredibly relaxing in getting lost amongst the crowds and chaos of the alleys and backstreets of the bazaar in the old city of Ahmedabad. Cultural barriers melt away in the noise and the heat through some lighthearted bargaining, a chat about sport and a shared laugh over my inability to choose from the rainbow array of colored bracelets on display. You can have the sandy beaches, the swaying palms and the luxury resorts, give me the noise, the dust, the crowds and the color of an Indian bazaar to unwind and escape.