charukesi May 21st, 2007
As I turned the corner and entered Pondy Bazaar, my senses went into overdrive. The sounds of cars and buses honking me into deafness… the colors of the plastic bangles, garish - some may say, but eye-catching and inexpensive, just right for the wear and throw use of hundreds of college girls who buy them everyday… the calls of the vendors - just come and look, no charge for seeing, madam - and some of them actually in English - single woman, short hair and out comes the English. The political hoardings, the ubiquitous posters for Sivaji, due for release very soon, the sign boards for shops selling everything from fast foods to lingerie (always written as lingery - pronounce as written - in Tamil)… the heat, the smell of sugarcane being ground into fresh juice, the sudden cool blast on your face as you cross a shop with air-conditioning on. Cars parked in complete randomness all along the sides of the roads - and above them the ugliest stuffed toys for sale, perched on the roofs, silly smiles on their faces, absolute monarchs of all they survey.
Shoppers, tired of mall hopping, back to where the real action is, jostling against each other in the narrow lanes between the pavements and the shops, where the street vendors set up their wares. The younger ones stopping at each tiny shop and bargainng for their life over two rupees, the older ones resting their tired feet where they find place…
[down but not out]
Shops being set up and dismantled in front of your eyes…
[danger? what it is?]
And in the middle of all this, a familiar fragrance carried by the air… memories from long ago, malligaipoo (jasmine) and its more colorful friends… the flower sellers of Pondy Bazar, busy through the year. If it is the wedding season, we get orders worth thousands of rupees, otherwise there is always good business - after all, people buy garlands and flowers for god through the year - there is no season for that…
We buy fresh flowers every day and make these garlands and bouquets… but people prefer the plastic flowers, that is the fashion now… so we sell bouquets of plastic flowers also… the money is more in that anyway
Surprisingly (for me), most of those involved in the larger units making garlands and dressy stuff for the hair are men. They stand together in little groups, silent as their hands fly, tying the flowers together with the thread, now inserting a red rose amidst the pure white jasmine, and then a dash of green to set off the milder tones.
The women work alone, by themselves, finding little spots between the larger shops or in the side lanes where they bring their baskets of flowers day after day. Madras is full of these pookkarammas (women flower sellers) whose fingers fly over the mallipoo and kanakambaram but who rarely themselves have flowers in their hair. I wonder what their stories are…
