India TV was just running an afternoon special on how the world is about to end because the Mayan civilizational calendar had prophesied this 5,000 years back.
Yes.
History Channel shows similar features but THC never says the world is actually going to end on such-and-such date. India TV makes it difficult to go against Priyaranjan Das Munshi when he tries to bring in a broadcasting code to regulate content on so-called TV news channels.
Saturday 5 April, 2008
Wednesday 2 April, 2008
The Old Man of Defence Colony Market
I started going to the Defence Colony around a year and a half back. I was trying to make myself agreeable to a girl who lived there. It didn't happen. But in that process I often ended up at the market there. Long coffees, elaborate suppers and almost ceremonial dinners (The things we do).
And after every beverage or meal, I would come across this really old man, wheeling his bicycle around. The bicycle had a wooden box mounted on the carrier and a brass bell hanging from the handlebars. The bell he would ring intermittently, trying to get the attention of the passers by. Everytime I saw him I was filled with rapt curiosity. And admiration at his persistence. Tinged with despair at his probably lack of choice.
Now Defence Colony is in South Delhi. And it has a fairly upscale market. That's why this old man stuck out. I'd seen one else like him. And I know for a fact that he came with his bicycle in the morning when the market opened and left after it closed at night.
I'd often wondered why he came here. I'd never actually seen him make a sale. He probably got three or four customers a day. I doubted the shoppers at DefCol Market wanted to buy. He probably thought this was a place where people had money and would buy his stuff. But I couldn't see the those people buying. I still can't. Shouldn't he have gone to a less upmarket market, so to speak? He'd probably have found a lot more customers next to the Jalebi thelas at a cheaper market.
He's still there. I saw him the other day. Ringing his bell. Selling Ghanta Chaap Churan. I just don't see it selling in DefCol Market.
And after every beverage or meal, I would come across this really old man, wheeling his bicycle around. The bicycle had a wooden box mounted on the carrier and a brass bell hanging from the handlebars. The bell he would ring intermittently, trying to get the attention of the passers by. Everytime I saw him I was filled with rapt curiosity. And admiration at his persistence. Tinged with despair at his probably lack of choice.
Now Defence Colony is in South Delhi. And it has a fairly upscale market. That's why this old man stuck out. I'd seen one else like him. And I know for a fact that he came with his bicycle in the morning when the market opened and left after it closed at night.
I'd often wondered why he came here. I'd never actually seen him make a sale. He probably got three or four customers a day. I doubted the shoppers at DefCol Market wanted to buy. He probably thought this was a place where people had money and would buy his stuff. But I couldn't see the those people buying. I still can't. Shouldn't he have gone to a less upmarket market, so to speak? He'd probably have found a lot more customers next to the Jalebi thelas at a cheaper market.
He's still there. I saw him the other day. Ringing his bell. Selling Ghanta Chaap Churan. I just don't see it selling in DefCol Market.
The Puppet Lady in Khan Market
The other day, standing in the parking lot in Khan Market I saw a poor old Rajasthani-attired lady trying to quietly sell puppets to foreigners and the top 0.1 % of the affluent. She had a slight smile as she displayed her wares, routinely seen at every Indian handicrafts exhibition and tourist trap.
My girlfriend was waiting, but I was watching the puppet salesman fixedly, a hack/voyeur, to see what would happen next. No one stopped to evince interest in her puppets. The puppets were so run-of-the-mill, I shook my head condescendingly, almost wanting to tell her to sell something less stereotypical that people around here weren't ambushed with all the time.
Needless to say she had no success at all. She was selling something everyone had seen a billion times. She wasn't an exponent of the pushy-urchin/beggar-at-the-red-light style of salesmanship. She was mild and had a softly pleasant smile.
And then three men, perhaps minions at some shop or perhaps at the market association there told her to leave. She stayed a heartbeat and then, giving a heartwarmingly embarrassed smile
and walked away towards the parking lot.
And I wondered about the socio-economic dynamic at play here. She wasn't bothering anyone. Often one can be chased by people trying to force their wares on you. But not she. She was no competition to the shops that employed the three men who shooed her off. She wasn't a hindrance to anyone, not the obscenely rich shoppers nor the shops. She wasn't even standing in front of a shop.
But she did stick out didn't she. Her clothes were the sort worn by poor women in rural Rajasthan. Not the sort of clothes often seen in Khan Market. If she'd been wearing an ordinary salwar kameez would they have bothered her? Perhaps, but as an equal. As it happened, they hushed her away in loud voices as if she were an embarrassing truth.
Again, if she'd been a Delhi lady? She'd have fought back some, probably.
But here she was out of place and station. Poor. Differently and rurally clothed. Out-of-towner. Unsophisticated. Unaggressive.
Her last smile was heartwarming.
My girlfriend was waiting, but I was watching the puppet salesman fixedly, a hack/voyeur, to see what would happen next. No one stopped to evince interest in her puppets. The puppets were so run-of-the-mill, I shook my head condescendingly, almost wanting to tell her to sell something less stereotypical that people around here weren't ambushed with all the time.
Needless to say she had no success at all. She was selling something everyone had seen a billion times. She wasn't an exponent of the pushy-urchin/beggar-at-the-red-light style of salesmanship. She was mild and had a softly pleasant smile.
And then three men, perhaps minions at some shop or perhaps at the market association there told her to leave. She stayed a heartbeat and then, giving a heartwarmingly embarrassed smile
and walked away towards the parking lot.
And I wondered about the socio-economic dynamic at play here. She wasn't bothering anyone. Often one can be chased by people trying to force their wares on you. But not she. She was no competition to the shops that employed the three men who shooed her off. She wasn't a hindrance to anyone, not the obscenely rich shoppers nor the shops. She wasn't even standing in front of a shop.
But she did stick out didn't she. Her clothes were the sort worn by poor women in rural Rajasthan. Not the sort of clothes often seen in Khan Market. If she'd been wearing an ordinary salwar kameez would they have bothered her? Perhaps, but as an equal. As it happened, they hushed her away in loud voices as if she were an embarrassing truth.
Again, if she'd been a Delhi lady? She'd have fought back some, probably.
But here she was out of place and station. Poor. Differently and rurally clothed. Out-of-towner. Unsophisticated. Unaggressive.
Her last smile was heartwarming.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
