As I stepped into the vibrant chaos of the main marketplace after what felt like an eternity, a wave of nostalgia engulfed me, carrying me back to a time when this bustling marketplace was more than just a shopping destination—it was a sanctuary for the necessities that shaped our daily lives. The air, heavy with the scent of myriad spices, teased memories of yesteryears when every visit to this market was a journey woven with familiarity and tradition.
The panoramic view that unfolded before my eyes was a canvas of life. The market, adorned with its vibrant stalls and animated chatter, sprawled out in a kaleidoscope of colours. The fish section exuded the briny scent, foul to the some, where silvery catches lay in abundance, tempting the discerning buyer. Across the way, the mutton and pig stalls hinted at culinary delights waiting to be crafted, promising succulence that only the choicest cuts could offer.
Amidst this symphony of aromas, the vegetable market stood as a testament to the earth’s bounty, with an array of vibrant greens and colourful produce that seemed to whisper tales of fertile lands far beyond the market’s periphery. Above it all, the aroma of seasoned meats mingled with the earthy fragrance of fresh vegetables, creating a melange that defined the essence of this historic marketplace.
The main market, with its labyrinthine lanes and energetic vendors, held a historical significance that transcended the mundane transactional nature of commerce. It was the heartbeat of the community, the pulse of daily life, where the act of buying essentials transformed into a communal ritual that bound generations together. We, the friends, then bachelors, went from the office to a particular restaurant, run by a few very charming young ladies. They were the attraction, and evening, getting a seating place was difficult. From there we normally go to a fish vendor, an old lady with a pink cheek and white hair bundled in a nice bun. Surprisingly, she always wears very clean dresses and knows us very well. once we brought fish from a different vendor which she noticed, and she gave us some very good words, after that, we never tried purchasing fish other than from her ..she was like our grandma and always had a cute smiling face.
After coming to this place after so long, I stood there, absorbing the sights and sounds of the market. There were not many changes took place during these periods. I couldn’t help but marvel at the memories etched into the very fabric of these crowded alleys. Each stall seemed to have its own story, narrating the ebb and flow of life, the changing seasons, and the unyielding spirit of a community that had woven its existence around these humble marketplaces.
This was not merely a market; it was a living archive, a repository of shared histories and enduring connections. With each step, I embarked on a journey through time, traversing the market’s labyrinth to unearth the echoes of bygone days and rediscover the essence that had made the main market the quintessential go-to place for essentials.
the mutton and pig section, the air resonated with the rich, savoury aroma of seasoned meats, tempting passersby with promises of culinary delights. The origins of these succulent offerings could be traced back to the pastoral landscapes of Assam, where skilled hands raised livestock with care, ensuring only the finest cuts graced the market stalls.
Moving on, the beef and chicken section hummed with the rhythmic cadence of life, as vendors proudly displayed the fruits of their labor. These offerings, too, had made their way from the lush hills of Tripura, where cattle roamed freely, and flocks of chickens flourished under the open skies.
As I navigated through the lively tapestry of the main market, the sections for fish, mutton, pig, beef, chicken, and vegetables unfolded like chapters in a vivid story of sustenance. The fish market, adorned with glistening silver treasures from distant waters, echoed with the energetic calls of fishermen haggling over their prized catches. Each variety told a tale of the brackish rivers of Assam and the Ilish fish a favourite of the residents came from Tripura and Bangladesh, their origins painted in the scales that shimmered under the vibrant sunlight. I was looking for our grandma, and ultimately, I located her when she shouted at me. I was very happy to find her. Now she is not selling fish, her daughter is doing that job. but she supervises everything. After the meeting, she must also recollect, a lot of old stories and she goes on to speak, about how people have changed.No helpful attitudes, she summarised. She asked about me, and my family like a close friend wanting to know, I was so happy After talking to her, I went to our favourite restaurant. It was still not office closure time and, I got a seat. the same girls were there though they must have now married. One of them identified me said hello, and asked where I am nowadays. I told her that I was no longer in service and just come here to see my favourite place. She gave a meaningful smile.
However, amidst the symphony of commerce, the vegetable market stood as a local testament to the fertile lands surrounding localities. The vibrant hues of greens, reds, and yellows painted a picture of the region’s agricultural bounty, with farmers from the local areas contributing to the colourful mosaic. Unlike their meat counterparts, these vegetables didn’t embark on journeys from distant states; instead, they were a celebration of the fertile soil that sustained the local community.
What truly set the scene ablaze with vibrancy was the enchanting sight of the market being predominantly run by women and girls, their presence a mosaic of strength and grace. Their laughter echoed amidst the chaotic symphony of bargaining and banter, and their faces, adorned with the telltale signs of a traditional habit, painted a charming picture of cultural heritage.
The market’s heartbeat was the rhythmic crunch of betel nuts between their teeth. As these resilient women and girls tirelessly managed their stalls, their pink-cheeked smiles and lips stained a vibrant red told a tale of resilience, a symbol of their enduring spirit in the face of daily challenges. Amidst the hustle and bustle, the market emerged not just as a marketplace but as a living canvas, where the convergence of Assam, Tripura, and local traditions harmonized in a dance of commerce and culture.
Yet, amidst the vibrant charm of the main market, a shadow danced on the fringes of the lively scene—the high cost of goods. The once-affordable essentials now bore price tags that seemed to defy gravity, soaring to heights that tested the resilience of even the most seasoned buyers. Bargaining, once a spirited dance between buyer and seller, now resembled a tightrope walk on the edge of unyielding prices.
The challenge of negotiating with vendors unwilling to reduce their prices became a defining feature of this transformed marketplace. With each attempt to haggle, the vendors stood firm, their expressions unyielding as if their resolve mirrored the unrelenting march of time itself. The echoes of past transactions, where a friendly banter often resulted in a favourable deal, now seemed like distant melodies drowned out by the cacophony of rigid pricing structures.
Rajat chandra sarmah
8/3/24
Mail ID : rajatchandrasarmah@gmail.com
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