A Word about Markets

 Krishna Rajendra Market, Bangalore

We spent 25 days in the South of India in August. We arrived in Bangalore just before dawn, climbed into a taxi and watched the city wake up in the mist, the way it always seems to wake up in India. Misty and with a steady momentum, as if the city waits for daylight all night and without much ado, steps out, no fuss.

22 hours in the air, a day to recover and then where to head first. There's a silent agreement between us that we feel best in a market so it's where we go with the most excitement, just to get our bearings, where the city finds its soul. Here you can see the necessities of everyday life, what is possible for who and what is not--it's how a city eats, what it wants, the things it needs, who it is. You can tell the hierarchy by its inner circle of prized fruits and vegetables circulating outwards to home stuffs and sundries and puja paraphanelia, to the outskirts where the very poor sell a few small chilies or limes spread out on torn fabric, puppies circulating, cows, motorbikes, rickshaws, taxis, Marutis, very few Ambassadors left.

I guess it's how we get acquainted with a place.