The Village Bazaar - March 3

The Ashram is about a quarter mile from Shyampur, a small village. They have a few shops that are open every day but on Sunday afternoon they have their weekly market or bazaar. I finally went to it today – don’t know what I have been doing on the other Sundays, but this was my first time.

What fun. Merchants spread blankets on the ground and beautifully displayed their veggies and fruits (per usual, photos will eventually be downloaded). Other merchants offered shoes, fabric, Punjabi suits, scarves, plastic items, kitchenware – also spread out on blankets. Some were frying the Indian version of funnel cakes but these end up bright pink.

But what was the biggest draw? Our cameras and us. As soon as children saw us they say one of the few phrases they know in English, “One photo?” They all want their photos taken. They understand digital cameras – once the photo is shot they wait to see it on the small screen – and giggle, and point to each other on the screen, and then ask for another. Mothers asked us to take their children’s photos. Merchants looked blasé while I took their photos, but then eagerly looked at themselves on my screen.

The village itself – it has some really old buildings – had to be from the days of the Raj – now decrepit and falling apart, shacks, homes made of sticks, some stucco buildings. But the feeling was wonderful – so much nicer than Haridwar and MUCH better than Delhi. People stared but also smiled and “Namasted” us. Not a single beggar! Alleluia. It was a feast for the eyes and a charming international event. There were about 10 of us from the Ashram – and they all clearly know where we come from. We are all, of course, “Americans” even though several were Canadians and Tom is from Dublin and RP from Germany. Oh well. It works.

Today, Monday, I took a break from sorting clothes for the children and wandered back to the village with a friend. This time I felt like the Pied Piper. Two 6th grade boys (who I had taught) from the village came running out and joined us. They showed us a different way through the village to the Ganges. What was so funny is that they were annoyed when other children joined us – truly we lead a parade. They would tell them to “come home!” – they wanted to be our escorts, our ONLY escorts. They wanted me to ask them questions from the lessons I had taught them so I reviewed latitude and longitude and glaciers, etc. They were most proud as they shouted out the answers. Much fun. I saw more of the village – again, the juxtaposition of decrepit, but beautiful, old buildings (I think some were old temples), stucco buildings and shacks made of branches and hay, dung patties drying so they can be burnt as fuel, cows, and dirt pathways meandering among the houses/hovels. It is so unlike anything else I have ever seen – truly a third world village – but the smiles and bows and greetings of the residents could not have been warmer.