The market

Pom-Pom-Pom-Pom-Pam-Pap-Pom, the sound of the blaring horn of an automobile welcomed me and my auditory senses
to the place. I was in a place that was filled like the inside of an anthill and smelled somewhat like the outside of a public
lavatory. The people around, were new, their faces, something I had only seen on the internet and the TV, not the typical
type one would find just next door in my country, Germany.
Yes, I was outside my native land in a foreign place to meet a person, a special person I was looking forward to meeting for a
long time. He had summoned me to this place and I had flown in from the very next flight and had landed just this morning,
only for the hot sun to welcome me and an airport attendant to arrange a hotel room for me. That was five hours ago, now I
was in the exact place he had asked me to come. I was in a busy marketplace in Istanbul, the old capital of Turkey.
I looked at my silver watch with green hands and read the time as 1:45 as my watch glared because of the bright, hot, yellow
sun above. It will take some time before he shows up, I thought, as I looked around the place, taking in the detail of the
things. The place was an old market common to the Arabs there as the Bazzar and had all the marks of the glorious Turkish
Empire.
I looked around, the buildings, all tall and close-set, leaving almost no gap in between, allowing only alleys to squeeze
through them at times, all painted in a shade of very light brown with an extra mix of white. The plain, light colour coat on
the buildings seemed rather dull when compared with the brightly coloured clothes hung in front of them for drying, red,
pink, cream, a big green one with something written on it in Arabic in white. When I looked at the two components together
they sort of blended in and the dull paint now seemed to subtly provide a great background for the setting.
I looked up ahead my path, craning my neck and saw, heads, a lot of them, most covered with plain white or bright green
caps or the black hair or the veil worn by the women, called the Burkha. When my neck returned to its normal length, I
could see the people around me, dressed in brightly coloured dresses and robes. A man went past me dressed all in black,
while another was in all white. A group of kids came along too, one of them in stark green, the other in a red top and blue
trousers. This richness of colour made me, dressed in a light blue T-shirt and a faint brown corduroy pant, feel sick,
considering my paleness.
I tried to look away at the stalls, as small as a matchbox if compared with most convenience stores back in Europe, which
lined the alley as far as one could see. This did no good, as the attractive merchandise put up for sale were as colourful as
the other things around me. Desperately I looked up at the sky, to see just the blue and a little white. Something thats my
friend here, I thought, relieved.
As my oculatory senses were taking a break after failing me in making me feel better about me when compared to my
vicinity, my auditory senses which had been triggered earlier, boomed to come up and volunteer for the task as I noticed a
vendor trying to lure people to his stall. It seemed from his rhythmic voice, that I couldnt understand, as if he were singing,
humming a hymn. Thats something that doesnt make me feel like I shouldnt be here, I said to myself. I noticed that my
feet had taken me to a place where now the sound that welcomed me was gone, but replaced by the sound of the
thousands around me murmuring their concerns. This sound was so very comforting, it made my heart beat at the same beat
and a warm feeling engulfed me. I noticed that a group of children were playing marbles and laughing. Their laugh was
something innocent and soothing, making me feel better about my presence at the place.
I looked at my watch again, and said, I can wait here. It is good for me.

Word count: 742

-7139 Abhishek