An Array at Chalai

Today we perused through the broken alleyways of the Chalai Market. Entering through a decrepit, crumbling archway, I am surprised by the abundant buying, selling and bustling interactions. At first, the stench of dead fish combined with the scorching heat nauseates the senses almost to the point of collapse. Swarms of buzzing flies hover and circle, making me feel itchy as their tiny legs crawl over my skin. I am careful where I step, trying to avoid puddles of smutty waters and the remnants of rotted vegetables. Vendors set up shop on the dusty ground, laying their produce to display on old ripped sheets. The variety of vegetables is confounding. All the usual suspects are present…verdant green bunches of lettuce, peppers of different colors and potencies, plump ripe tomatoes, piles of thick orange carrots, flowering balls of cauliflower, yams covered in dirt, gleaming green cucumbers and heaps of crisp string beans. There are also fruits, copious amounts of bananas hung on stalks, beefy ripen mangoes, bunches of swollen grapes. I notice pieces of produce never before seen. Neon green cylinder shape fruits covered in bumps that resemble warts. Huge dark brown prickly skinned ovals, much larger than a watermelon, that tastes like a combination of pineapple and peach. Small firm, lime green balls of tart bitterness. All of the produce lures me with their color, their juiciness, seducing me to take a bite. I feel like Eve in the Garden, trying to resist the temptation of the enchanting deliciousness.




I saunter through the potato sacks full of spices, from coriander to turmeric to mustard seeds. Fresh rows of eggs and milk sold in plastic bags wait patiently to be bought.




We walk through the seafood department, where the morning catches are cleaned, scaled, bloody and headless. Some of it lies drying in the sun. Mounds of prawns sit next to silver radiant sheens of fish. A little further into the market and I stumble upon the meat section, witnessing a chicken preparing to get killed, skinned, and hung for potential buyers. The stagnant smell changes as I pass the mutton, hanging fleshy white meat with blood blue veins, the four legs visible but lacking a head.



I continue moving, mesmerized at the surroundings, realizing that this market has functioned in the same manner for ages. There is nothing sanitary about this place, no hygienic procedures or precautions. Raw meat and fish are handled with bare hands. Rusted knifes cut and chop and slice, looking as though they belong in some museum rather than utilized to prepare food. People are shouting, bargaining, vending and transacting. It was such a stark difference from the supermarket back in New York where I frequent to buy groceries. I am transported back in time, before shopping carts and cash registers, before scanning items and checking receipts. This is primitive living at its finest. Archaic and repugnant by our standards but nevertheless, fascinating.