Saturday Bazaar

Hello all,

Yesterday evening was very quiet, the children all tried to get their homework done as quickly as possible in order to have the weekend free. We ate and got ready for bed. All the children were asleep and I was in my room writing and reading when the power went out. It was pretty late at night and with no windows and now no fan, the Xavier’s could not sleep and had to leave their oven of a room. They congregated outside and I went out with them. We sat and enjoyed the night for about an hour, until the power came back on.

This morning was hotter than it has been all week, and all the children found games to play that involved as little movement as possible. Around 10:30 Kumari was leaving for the market, and I asked to go with her. She agreed, under the condition that I lagged behind and explored on my own, because she is able to get most of the food as gifts, but if they see me with her they would make her pay under the impression that she now had a lot of money.

On the way to the market we passed a huge group of Muslims protesting and marching. Kumari wasn’t really able to explain what it was about. She did say, however, that almost all of her free food came from Muslims; they are very giving and care for her cause. Also, she explained, Christians and Muslims are basically the same, so in India they get along very well. I thought her opinion that Islam and Christianity were almost one in the same to be very interesting. It also made me think about how suspicious the white, Christian majority has been of Muslim men in the US, especially after 9/11.

When we finally got to the bazaar, my initial thought was, “I have made a huge mistake.” It was crowded, dirty, and loud. Autorickshaws and trucks pushed through the narrow alley that made up the market, while cows and even people were knocked and thrown out of the way. I laughed thinking how Kumari said that she came at this time because it was less busy, and I could not even imagine it being more crowded or harder to navigate. My thought was that I would go and take pictures by myself since I couldn’t stay with Kumari, but the idea of pulling out a camera and drawing even more attention to myself seemed daunting.

I quietly navigated the maze of people, animals, and vegetables while pretending not to notice the stares I was receiving. In the first ten or so minutes I was there it did clear out considerably, which meant I stood out even more. Shop tenders and shoppers alike yelled out little tidbits of English at me, most of which made no sense. “Good night!” one person yelled, “What is the weather?” another asked. I do have to give them credit, though; they have a better understanding of English then I do of Tamil. At first I was a little uncomfortable about all the attention I was receiving, but I knew no one would try anything with me and that they were simply curious. I decided to bring out my camera to try and discreetly take a few shots. The camera, however, ended up being a blessing. So many people approached me asking me to take their picture. I would then show them the picture, and a conversation in broken English and Tamil would ensue. I actual made a few friends, and after talking to one shop keeper and his brother for several minutes, he gave me a free mango. I think he was disappointed that I didn’t eat it right away (they eat them skin and all), but I was told not to eat anything fresh, unless it was peeled. So I stuck it in my pocket and saved it for later.

Being in the market was one of the several times where I have been really happy that I took this trip alone. If I was with someone else, I probably would have hung on to them, making and sharing observations and never leaving their side. Being alone has forced me to interact with people. Why not talk to the old woman about cows? Or tell my story to the man selling ginger? I have no one else to talk to. I also feel like being alone has made more approachable. No one is intimidated by a lone, young, westerner. If I was with a group, would the two brothers so boldly approach me and ask me to take their picture, or would random people passing by feel comfortable enough to shake my hand and ask for “my origin”? I don’t know how many people today welcomed me to India, and though I am here alone, it certainly doesn’t feel like it.

About an hour into the outing (the hottest, dirtiest, sweatiest hour of my life) Ajith Kumar found me in the crowd and became my little tour guide. This little firecracker knows everyone here it seems, and somehow he got his hands on two cups of tea, and every time I looked away he was chomping on a new piece of fruit that someone had given him. When it was time, he and I flagged down an autorickshaw, which slowly took the treacherous route up the bazaar street. We loaded it up and rode home sitting on top of this weeks food; potatoes aren’t the most comfortable thing to sit on, especially on the bumpy roads of India.

Once home I immediately bathed, the water that ran off me was a dark brown from all the dust and dirt I had encountered on the street.

Oh, and I almost forgot, it is the Fourth of July! I didn’t even remember today until I saw Ajith wearing red, white, and blue (not on purpose). It is strange being somewhere where no one knows the significance of today. Then again, I don’t know when their independence day is, only that is in (early/mid?) August…

Peace,
Enjoy the holiday,
Robby

Me and one of my new local friends, Santosh Kumar. He is the one who gave me a mango, and on passing him a second time I had Ajith take this picture of us.

This woman kept pointing at cows and talking to me in Tamil, despite me protesting that I only speak English. She was friendly, though, and let me take this picture of her.

The bazaar was only food, there are other streets for clothes, shoes, jewelry, etc.

Approaching the market street.