The markets.

Buying anything in India will always be an 'adventure'. The adventure is definitely not in the search. In fact, every other corner you turn from main road to tiny little walkway between empty buildings lurks a merchant with glittery packets of tabacco, salty chick pea snacks and other various goods from laundry detergent to vegetables. The array of items available from the most obscure little shop in the slums is astounding. At first I wondered how the little paan spitting man could ever make a living selling what looks like only a few wrapped candies and bags of chips. However if you change roles from buyer to observer you can witness indian women walking up and leaving with cloth, coconuts, sugar, eggs, flour, and more. I've seen men leaving with stacks of notebooks, children buying plastic toys, and even once I witnessed a baby goat being handed over the counter! These merchants seem to have an endless array of items. I wonder if they just bring things from their one roomed houses located behind their little counters, even selling personal items to make a quick buck or two.

The markets of the old city are a completely different story. Walking up from the main ghat you are immediately aware that you have entered 'Old City' or the heart of the market place. Immediately on either side of the streets there are layers and layers of vendors complete with their various sounds of negotiations and scents of street food that I can almost taste when I take a deep breath in. The first layer along the thick black ribbon of the main road are the fruit and vegetable sellers. These merchants brave the speeding traffic and stand dutifully on either side with large wooden carts full of colourful produce. Often in order to draw attention to themselves they place large stereos at the end of their carts and blast some type of high pitched melody. Others resort to their own vocal cords and scream what I assume are the Hindi names of their products...but of course i'm only assuming that's what they're screaming...These are my favourite merchants. Most of them do not speak english and thus I can usually safely pass with out being hustled for a purchase.

However the next layer is a different story. The enterprising Indians behind the fruit and vegetable sellers are sometimes women or men, but usually are children. They have spread big beautiful floral blankets down on the street and have delicately displayed all sorts of jewelery, hair wear, or other shiny trinket. The children responsible for these blankets run out to the street in search of potential clients. When their buyer radar spys a westerner or kind looking upper caste indian, their sticky hands begin their act of tugging or sleeve pulling in order to cause the wanderer to turn and look into their big sad eyes and pouty lips. Then they wait just long enough so that your gaze absorbs their sorrow and you start to feel that tight little empathetic knot in your stomach grow "awww poor kids thoughts". Immediately at that moment they say in their saddest voice "pleeeeeaase madam come look" "I give you special price".

Next, behind these crafty little devils and their trinkets are the booths. Now, what is for sale in the booths is completely random. I have seen a man who seems to specialize colorful plastic buckets, another who had every shape, size and color of shoe lace, and someone who sold only crutches. These merchants also are usually men and sit or lie next to their booth loudly chomping and spitting paan while absorbing the scent of the incense they burn. They seem to sit or lie basking in the sun until a shoelaceless or bucketless buyer springs them to life. Once again I wonder how they stay in business because how often does a person need crutches or shoe laces!?

Thus, Jenneke and I continued our walk through these thick layers of commerce and approached the little stone arch into the real "old city". "Old city" is a serious of decrepit brick buildings that has been serving as store real estate for hundreds of years. The winding stone paths between the numerous stalls are so well worn that the dust and feces gathers right in the middle of the sagging paths. The old city is full of more 'traditional' indian goods. One series of looping paths led jenneke and I to the cloth sellers. Here, there are stacks and stacks of the most vivid and bright fabrics i have ever seen. These stacks are framed by entrance ways draped with glittering shimmering silk scarves. The sellers grab you by the hand and drag you into their rainbow rooms. I constantly felt my body being tugged and was pulled down while cries of "Madam sit! Sit! Come Come look at our scarves-You want Sarwa Cami (typical indian dress of long colorful shirt and pants)! You like Chai! Have a Chai and look! Yes, Yes, now not Later! Sit Madam Pllleeeaaasse! Here, Here! Chai special for you! Now look I give you good price! No you do want! I give you best price and Chai, You are my sister! Like family i give you good price and we drink chai!

After a few of these experiences I learned to fold my arms tightly around my chest, which is uncomfortable because often while walking through the meter wide walkway I was frequently pushed to one side by a passing motorbike (yes even through the crowd and in the buildings motor bikes still drove) or angry cow. In fact numerous times that night walking through the old city i was head butted by these sacred animals' sticky wet snout, and had to continue walking with a big spot of clear smelly drool on my sleeve.

None the less, fighting cows, crowds, motorbikes and shoving along the tiny path I made my way past the jewelery area, spice spots, food markets, religious trinket stalls and many other genres of goods. The entire time I felt like I was part of a contest rather than shopping area. I had to laugh as I thought to my self, this is all one big joke. Like "how many people can fit into a phone booth" the Indian people were really just attempting to see how much stuff, people, and animals can fit inside a group of old stone buildings and still be able to breath, walk and leave with out going completley crazy.

Well i did come close to going crazy and as I inched my way out of the market I cannot begin to explain how amazing it felt to move into a space where i could freely swing my sweaty, snot and drool covered arms. As I left, I thought to myself that this is where I should bring the teenagers next. These crowded streets and markets are full of the color and the life of India. There were so many beautiful snapshots of reality that could be captured from the old beggars perched behinds hundreds of silver shiva statures to the smoky square entraces lined with thousands of brown incense sticks. All this and more counting the layers of the merchants leading up to the heart of the 'old city' was india. To me, this was the life force of Varanasi. The old city is the center of commerce the organ that pumped rupees through the streets and slums.