The Cocoon within the Cocoon

The lane was a nondescript one. It sprang out suddenly from a busy small-town road. Like all small towns, this one also had its small market - cocooned from the outside world in the ordinary sense- from bomb blasts and cricket matches; yet kept itself abreast of the 'going rates' in other markets. This particular lane was a cocoon within the cocoon. It had its fair share of personalities. The Marwari who calculated the best scheme in a flash but could not read , the bearded nut and tobacco wholesaler wearing his taqiyah; a child with no name but 'chhottu' who learned the rate of cigarette packs before learning his ABCs, the Shetty wholesaler - all lived in apparent harmony, yet jealous of each other's success. Despite selling the same products and having the same customer base from which to carve their earnings from - this motley group of wholesalers were extremely united to a person from outside the first time. For example, though T owed A Rs. 20000 - a qaasa (debt) for over 6 months citing non availability of money, in the case of an emergency, he would lend A 50000 and that too interest-free for short periods!

Moreover, there was mutual trust - the emergency helicopter landing which caused half the town to congregate on the spot, leaving the shops unattended an shutters open for over half an hour. The one man watching was a half-blind chacha, wearing his weathered shirt and lungi, and watching the proceedings take place. This man would spend his mornings muttering about past remembrances, sipping on his suleiman (black tea) and puffing away on his beedi. I was intrigued. I remembered just two days ago during the first visit my olfactory nerves were greeted with a bouquet on first breath. The aromas of soaps, spices, dust, jute and beedi smoke greeted me all at once, welcoming me to this quiet world, extending an invitation to its inner circle. In reply, I had sneezed....