Hatiya Tuesday

It is Tuesday afternoon in Gulariya, a scalding one at that too. The monsoon has outstayed its welcome. The rivers that traverse through the forest are swelling. And the ceiling fan powered by a reluctant generator gulps away the diesel that came from across the border. Even so, the hordes of people coming in to the vacant lot just adjacent to Gulariya buspark is increasing by the minute, for it's not just any Tuesday. It is the hatiya Tuesday in Gulariya.

Once every week, this land behind the busy bus station erupts with business. Some come to sell, most come to buy. The people of this town set aside this time to head to hatiya where you get the best bargain. The potatoes are cheaper, the roasted makais are fresh, the rice and dal seem reasonably priced and spices are aplenty. You can buy clothes in all colours of the rainbow and juttas in all sizes. You will bump into your friends, their friends, your relatives and their relatives. Everyone knows everyone else here. And, everyone, regardless of who they are and where they are, try to make it. For some, this is the only time in the entire week when they'll venture out despite the heat.

Haggling over price in friendly overtures is common. You will hear some fierce bargaining, somewhere a women is trying to buy two pairs of chappals for the price of one. The shopkeeper reluctantly handing over the goodies to the world’s best bargainer is still happy to deposit some money in his pocket. When the customers are done bargaining, they briskly carry themselves around to the corner to celebrate. It's where one stall sells the most delicious barfi and imported aloo chaats.

After school hours, a kid sells posters of colorful deities. Somewhere in the crowd, a man from a far-away village brings heaps and heaps of dried chillies to spice up the meal. An old grandfather who makes his way to this little market from across the border brings mini mountains of rock salt. Sans one teeth, he seem to know everyone who passed by his stall.

Women extend their hands to the bangle seller, permitting a strange man to coax green and red glass bangles through her swollen hands. Rows and rows of knick knacks sit comfortable under the shade of under garments, right next to the yards and yards of clothes adorned with festive patterns.

In the middle of swirling sounds, moving in between rows of stalls, the age old tale of selling and buying, life running into life, a scorching afternoon melting into a soothing evening, a man turns to the sun and prays. Undisturbed by the cacophony of the sound engulfing him, he pauses to connect to the higher power.

The hatiya goes to sleep for a week with promises of coming back the next Tuesday.

~ Photography and text by Sanjana Shrestha.