The Bazaars of Tatanagar
A poem with ten photographs.
In the Bazaars of Tatanagar are displayed Water pistols filled with color ampoules Kid ammo, hapless neighbors sprayed Like in Paintball, but with fewer rules
The bazaar is bustling, people hurry past The Hindus buy color dust, dye, and lentil In the Ramzan month, Muslims fast Eating by moonlight— this fast ain’t gentle.
A tea seller hawks tea, from a kettle The buyer, a seller of embroidered shirts A rickshaw puller puts pedal to the metal, To money, his kinetic energy he converts.
I am happy without all the things I see Uncomfortable sequined silk, coarse jeans Kerchiefs, I’d lose even if pinned to me Give me just the photos of these scenes.
A slipper salesman does business brisk, Fancy footwear with sequins and pearls With flat heels, of falling there is no risk Though of shoe bite, chances unfurl.
Festive bargains these women explore Furniture and food, clothes and curtains Fancy a trip? Suitcases galore Either way, a hole in your wallet is certain.
Safari, American Tourister, and VIP brands Here, Upper Case is a suitcase label Pack a case, visit a capital city, it demands For uppercase ≠ capital letters, no fable.
This tailor lets me take a picture as a favor I think the picture is an interesting one The curtain ring hole panel is a timesaver Hanging curtains becomes easy and fun.
Cushions, bedsheets, a name old and new Bombay Dyeing for fabric you can trust Be it Holi or Eid, the tailor must sew Something fresh, for festivals, a must
Crowds like these are so familiar to me I feel funny taking pictures for you Yet I persist, trying to make you see Sensory overstimulation, person-per-view!