The first time I set my foot in the narrow people strewed lanes of Mutton Gulli, better known to most as Chor Bazaar, I had a fever and a pathogen induced delirium that one associates with such increased body temperature. Yesterday, when I re-visited Chor Bazaar, I realised that my mental confusion and fluctuating consciousness on that occaision was not a side effect of my fever but had merely set in atmospherically in the entrepreneurial magic that weaves together one of the world's most enchanting bazaars.
In the last few months I have come to realise, partly through my blog and the eyes of my camera, the beauty that surrounds me; a beauty that charts common people and even though we drown ourselves in it everyday we seem to miss it and it is all there pristine, waiting to be discovered by a little effort on our part. Yesterday, in search for this beauty [which I miss throughout the week in my insulated office environment] I trudged through some of South Mumbai’s entrepreneurial nerve centres - from Crawford Market through Zaveri Bazaar through Abdul Rehman Marg to Bhendi Bazaar ending my quest some distance away in Chor Bazaar. The result in pictures [as usual] and some words, but mostly pictures is as follows.
[This old lady dressed in differrent cascades of blues rest her eyes and weary feet on the pavement]
[Brass blacksmiths guide molten metals into shapes we can use. Some people play with fire every day.]
[Sparks fly and the mercury soars but people do not forget to smile.]
[All that glitters is not gold - these are not gold bars but loaves of bread.]
[It's a hard life but people adapt and bear the load.]
[Sweet cold refreshment is never far]
(Cathing up on the daily news )
[In the commercial capital of India the wheels of commerce never stop]
[A dazzling array of bangles at Null Bazaar.]
(Now you know what happened to your grandfather's car)
[ A atmosphere of dejection - like two old people in a doctor's waiting room.]
[In a city that wastes nothing, everything has a market as long as you are willing to pay something for it. Junk is a word that does not exist. If it has a use it will be used to its maximum.]
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