This morning I decided to go for a walk, just a Sunday morning walk. I ended up at the local market, and what a relief – I was not bothered by anybody. The Colaba street market, along Colaba Causeway, is different. It swarms with tourists, and you can’t take a single step without being offered something; Madam, look Madam, scarfs, pashminas, shawls Madam.. On top of it the beggars of course. You have to fight for your purse….
I represented no potensial byer in the local market, obviously. What would a tourist need grocieries for, or bric a brac for upcoming Diwali? I was left to myself with my camera, and people willingly answered all my questions; what is that for, how do you use this – and so on. It’s amazing these markets, and shops – the variety of goods is without limits.
What was not amazing was the selling of chicken…. Half dead, they seemed to me, stuck in horrible cages, awaiting their destiny. People would pick one, the stall keeper would drag it out, put it on the scale and showel it over his shoulder for the next guy – who slit its throat. Hygiene seemed to be nowhere around… I just had to stand there for a while and watch. Surely I would be nowhere close to a chicken for the rest of the journey!