Bazaar

The lazy dust that no one bothered to sweep under another man’s door now covers every ware on display. The pretty hair clips and ribbons, glass bangles and ladies brassieres, all hang in a powdery veil beneath the traditional awnings with Rajasthani prints depicting stories of prince and princesses. These colorful canvases mushroom overnight to form shop boundaries.

The noise of motorcycles, rickshaw hooters, sizzling food, shouting shopkeepers, laughing children, to the loud radios all blare one above the other as people tune their ears to its source. Each to their own liking.

The aroma of kebabs that dangle about its skewers within the small glass compartment of the wheelbarrow stand attract a regular stream of drooling customers.

The smell of food that wafts from each shop clashes as one walks along. Baked cinnamon on bread, roasted cumin on curries, herbs on barbecued lambs, ripe pineapples and tangy coconuts, mixed with smoke from motor cycles and sweat from men all run riot adrift the bazaars of Chandni Chowk in old Delhi. The sacred Jama Masjid stands within the heart of this vibrant, chaotic, ambience, where the evening prayers or the Azaan is now being aired and if one fine tuned their ears they could hear a beautiful quartet.

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