Sapiens’ biological clocks – right from when they are born to when they die – are adjusted according to earth’s rotation, but generalising this for everybody would be incorrect. Some light up lamps at night, if the need is; K.R. Market in Bengaluru sees precisely this. When the city dreams, this place bustles with vendors who grow every minute past 2:00 am getting together to set up their shops for the day’s business.
Considered as one of Asia’s biggest flower markets, it is different because it holds history (dating back to Tipu Sultan’s time), it has commerce (flower sellers, electrical shops, vegetable and fruit vendors, clothes shopkeepers, etc.), it has a belief system (myths of gods), it has contemporary issues(hunger, substance abuse, alcoholism) – but above all, it is about people who live harmoniously despite differences and have made peace with petty fights that happen almost every day and end similarly.
Thousands of stories live here. As I walk into the throng – I find some stories slipping up through my sleeves, making their way to my brain, sticking themselves on those neurons from where they would be readily available; I just see, they automatically form impressions.
Each story is unique. These are legends of hardships, and I like to see them as hope, connect them with time, talk about possibilities, and mark points that lead to understanding each other better. Here is a sneak peek in the form of a picturesque itinerary of poems from the perspective of life and desires!
Rakesh – “I was born equal, or maybe I was not.”
Chaos will never settle,
Gaps will never fill,
We were not born equal.
There were disparities,
Which reflect till date.
Hence, we should stop complaining,
And flounder through possibilities,
As much as we can
To make it easy on ourselves;
Making way through the same gaps,
Crossing and cutting the next,
Let us be cheerful,
Let us live to be happy!
Lady – “Should I wear it? Or Should I sell?”
Blessed are those hands,
Who weave this pleasure on a thread-
Not a necessity, but something we live for.
Even an old lady feels powerfully young,
After wearing this.
But not all have this fortune.
Some sell that last piece,
Instead of draping it on their pony.
This is disturbing.
Narrator- “My House is DEAD.“
How much is a home celebrated,
When it is given a life,
As if everything has congregated
To make it holy, new, and decorated.
Over the years, it loses its glimmer,
Converts to a sojourn,
In some other years,
It is too old to be a habitat for humans.
They pack and leave in search of a new home.
The house slowly dies,
But as a synonym of afterlife,
Its death is leisured by some living,
Who multiply by ripping the dead aside.
Lata – “This is my job after trying hands-on 2368 other jobs!”
What is in that sac, amma?
Are you okay, feeling tired?
Is there anyone at home who takes care
Of other things like cleaning, washing,
Waiting for you to come back,
As you earn a living?
I understand,
That over the years,
you must have wrestled with multiple jobs,
I am sure that this one must have
something unique in itself,
That you are holding on.
It must be too heavy for you,
To get food on the table.
But you are doing good,
Better than millions,
Please let me know if you need a hand,
We can sit together, talk about our days,
Tell each other stories,
And share our numbered days.
I would be obliged.
Narrator – “I Saw a Forest That Looked Like Home”
If I can, I would grow the whole forest in my room,
Dumb but beautiful.
Some roots will even grow from the wall,
I don’t care.
That would be a hint of all possibilities-
Of life, darkness, opportunity,
Of positivity, negativity, dreams and demons,
Of all the things or emotions that we could have seen or been,
But missed.
Man – “I am not following up with time – so what?”
Look close; it’s the same-
present, past, and future.
Looping, crossing, and bundling same memories,
Parallel, anti-parallel, spinning, rotating.
We are certainly inching forward
And maybe, it is all in vain.
Bhoomi – “Good fortune awaits you!”
Customs and traditions
are myths made by humans.
Races, disparities, colors,
All are because we think they are.
The moment we cease to believe in them,
They will vanish.
But before we do that,
We mustn’t forget
Why they were made-
To keep us together;
To believe that this is true
And that is false,
And everything else is in between.
Shyam – “I want to preserve my present!”
If you can,
Transport me to the future,
I want to go to my room which is
Lit with happy candles, and scented laughter,
I just want to ensure that my past lives there.
If it does not,
Would you mind clicking a picture?
Lady – “Until it gets more crowded, the choice is yours!”
Colors of life,
The rush behind,
Expectation, patience, suspense,
Presentation, prediction, competition,
Clicking, blinking, waiting,
Pick some lemons, post a smile.
What you just read is not just another article emphasizing hope; it is the reality of more than 94% of people from India’s unorganized sector – let me know what strikes you in the comments!
This is a passion project in collaboration with the very talented photographer – Avinash Sahu. Checkout other pictures on his Instagram profile. Going forward, we are planning to visit more places in India to capture lives and stories of people. Keep your eyes and pour more love. Stay connected.
Supriya Sahu 
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