A Stroll through Village Bazaar

My mother and wife share many opinions about me, one of which they firmly agree on: “Even after growing up so much, he still doesn’t know how to buy vegetables properly.”

My wife often calls me to instruct, “Get this and get that,” but when it comes to vegetables, she usually concludes with, “don’t bother, I’ll get them myself.” Honestly, it makes me happy.

A market or weekly bazaar usually sets up once a week in an open ground or along both sides of a road.

As a child, I used to insist on going to the market with my parents, just with the hope of getting something to eat. Later, when I grew up, they would take me along to carry the bags.

A market is like a mini world, a one-day universe. Here, irrespective of age, every vendor is addressed as “uncle” or “aunt.” At least, that’s how it was during my childhood, and no one ever seemed offended by it.

Just as there are various types of vegetable vendors, there are all kinds of tricky customers too.

Women bargaining for the best price, asking for the rate per kilogram but buying just 250 grams or 100 grams, putting an extra potato or tomato after weighing the purchase, and those who casually eat a good amount of berries or jamuns while negotiating the price without buying anything—there’s a lot to observe.

Shopping well in the market is an art. Anyone can buy good vegetables by paying the asking price, but only a good homemaker can bring home a bagful at the right price.

First, you scout the entire market, checking what’s available and asking for prices. Because if you buy brinjals for ₹50 per kilogram at the start and later find the same ones for ₹40, that ₹10 difference feels like a loss that takes your life earning.

Ultimately, everyone leaves the market satisfied with the thought, “I managed everything so efficiently and saved a few bucks.”

Then, you decide: this vendor has good potatoes, that one has fresh spinach. Gradually, you plan your purchases and start buying.

There’s another trick here. The order in which you buy vegetables reflects your intelligence. For instance, potatoes, brinjals, and onions go at the bottom of the bag, while leafy greens and delicate items like tomatoes are placed at the top.

Like everything else in life, one learns all this through experience.

Watching people argue endlessly over a few coins reminds me of the school lesson, “Laal Chikhal – The Red Clay.”

Nowadays, I rarely visit the market, but whenever my wife returns with bags full of vegetables, just looking at them takes my mind on a nostalgic stroll through those childhood visits to the market.