It is hard to paint the picture of this wildly complex, and fascinating market. On the surface it seems crowded and dirty, with endless winding alleyways lined with century old shops. As you begin to peel back the layers, the beautiful juxtaposition of extremes revels in all its glory.
The streets captivate my soul as I wander into fabric shops filled with material I could only dream of. These beautiful Indian women sit there gathered cross-legged on the floor, inspecting the most vibrant silks with embroidery that would put Elie Saab to shame.
There are men sitting on the side of the street offering anything from custom tailoring to love counselling, perched against the buildings with their Singer machines ready for business. Rickshaws are at every turn, some carrying boxes of produce stacked 15 high. The colourful spices resemble something of perfectly erected sand dunes, filling the air with an intense aroma that makes you want to dive in head first like Al Pacino in Scarface. The street food, the fruit carts, the saree shops, all coming together for one purpose; to survive.
I say the picture is hard to paint, because it is something of a masterpiece. Chandhi Chowk is like an oil painting, ancient in it’s origin but continually evolving without letting the layers dry.
This place is not for the faint of heart. Beyond the fabric, the spices, and the never ending world of commerce; the market reveals its age. The crumbling infrastructure surrounds you like a claustrophobic cloud of worry, walking in fear that the building may collapse at any moment. The makeshift curb side bathrooms hit your nose like mustard gas; gasping for air, you walk and watch the contaminated water flow under your feet into a slum where a child is sitting battered and dirty. That same child is trying to sell you something, when in all reality they should be the one in school expanding their creative mind.
Stimulation overload. Extremity in all forms of life.
It felt as though I had walked into a back room poker game where all you want to do was play, but everyone at the table stared at me with a curious face wondering if I was lost.
Be bold, walk in like you should be playing the game, and uncover the layers of pandora’s box.
INCREDIBLE INDIA!
Beautiful. Just beautiful. You have ignighted my India spark again! Can’t wait to go!