Ten years from now, we would remember how we set off to Pondi one summer. Sometime again I suppose, I would be sauntering in eye-clashing clothes in another city, but my first one would always be Pondicherry.
Usually during Onam, I used to see pavements lined with flower markets in Kochi. I grew up hearing tales on how flowers were transported from Tamil Nadu, but this was another world. The stalls were divided by stunning velvety rose garlands.
Even by 6:30 am, to our surprise the market was already on its feet. Women peeling fresh prawns, a lot of them comfortably squatted, and their wringed sarees tied around their waists. There were hints of jasmine among the pungent smells.
My uncanny taste for flamboyant textiles hailed from a land of curious glances. Markets always stir these peckish desires in you to experiment, it’s the one place where you can tailor your dreams. But that’s not what I loved about markets.
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