ToI on the Bicholim market...

[Frederick Noronha [फ़रेदरिक नोरोनया]]

Feel the rush

TNN 6 September 2009, 04:31am IST

Babi Gaonkar is quite a bundle of nerves as early as 8.30 on Wednesday
morning. Flaying his arms and blowing his whistle hysterically, this
aging police constable threatens motorists with dire consequences if
they disregard his directions and choose to park their vehicles along
the narrow road approaching the Bicholim bus stand.

His anxiety is not without reason, for, had he been complacent about
regulating traffic there, the road would have turned into a parking
lot almost instantly. "My superior just passed by minutes ago and
breathed down my neck. These motorists just don't understand," he
mutters, and runs off to scold a young man who has parked his bike at
a bottleneck.

Gaonkar was on his toes, quite literally, and it wasn't on account of
a protest or a religious gathering. The silent culprit was the town's
Wednesday bazaar.

Approximately 16 km away from Mapusa in Goa's northern half, Bicholim
is one of the towns surrounding the Valvanti river. Its weekly market,
which operates from 7.30am to 8.30pm, is a few metres away from its
unusually clean bus stand and boasts not only of reasonably varied
produce but also of vendors belonging to different towns and
communities. While the dry fish sellers are predominantly from the
coastal villages of Calangute and Candolim, the vegetable vendors come
in from neighbouring Mayem, Pernem and Dodamarg, and the fruiterers
from Belgaum. Interestingly, unlike any other weekly market visited
thus far, members of the Muslim community constitute a considerable
portion of the vendors at Bicholim. They are mostly involved in the
sale of footwear and readymade garments, both of which are relatively
cheaper at Bicholim than they are at other bazaars.

Further inward, one finds a group of local folk selling fresh and
crisp home-grown vegetables such as cucumbers, gherkins (tendli),
gourds, pumpkins, spinach, virill, and tambddi bhaji. Many have a
variety of the seasonal and delicious mashmelons (chibudd) on sale and
it isn't long before customers throng around them to bargain for the
fruit. "Aiz kavpacho?" (Can it be eaten today?), they ask vendors as
they flip the melon in their hand to gauge its weight. Some take their
pick from a basket full of fresh white pumpkin and, when the vendor
seems occupied, discreetly poke their nail into the vegetable to
ascertain whether it is tender.

A little ahead are Natalina and Romaldina Fernandes, vendors who
travel with baskets full of sun dried fish all the way from Candolim.
These fisherfolk have been visiting the Bicholim bazaar every
Wednesday for the last 40 years. "Coming to this market to do business
has been a tradition. But, even after 40 years, we don't have a roof
over our heads here. We have had to bear the sweltering heat in the
hot months and have had to save our produce from heavy showers during
the monsoon. Yet, life goes on," says Natalina, as she laughs at the
irony of another dried fish vendor complaining that the produce smells
rather unpleasant.

As we approach the heart of the market, a woman waves out to us,
desperately trying to catch our attention. Looking closely, we realize
that we have bumped into Martha Vaz, the jovial Bicholim-based coconut
seller who we had previously met at the Sanquelim market. "Thank you
very much for publishing my picture in the paper. I was so very happy
when my landlord told me that I figured in it. My son even ran to the
newspaper stall and bought me a copy," she gushes. "Everything is
become so expensive, but the rate of coconuts has dropped so much. I
am forced to sell three coconuts for Rs 10. Sometimes people even
bargain for four coconuts for that price," she says almost
spontaneously. "Moreover, I shell out Rs 50 as sopo (tax) for sitting
in this space. I hardly make a profit these days," she laments.

Esperanca Mendes from Agassaim, on the other hand, seemed as busy here
as she had been at Sanquelim, and was in the midst of convincing a
young female customer that the lady's fingers she had on sale were
fresh. "Don't doubt the quality of my vegetables ok? They are always
fresh," she warns. Kishori Chodankar a vegetable vendor from Assonora
also caught our attention. "I saw you at the Assonora market," she
smiled even as she tried to avoid the stench of an open sewer flowing
just behind her. "We come here to help feed our families and so we
have to bear these little things," she says.

Traditional florists abound at the Bicholim market and seat themselves
in a row just behind the stall set up to house the community Ganesh
idol. Rajendra Mayekar is one among them. "As my surname suggests, I
am from Mayem," he says. "Buy my garlands, they are fresh and I will
give you a good price. Or if you don't want them today, you can come
tomorrow. The bazaar won't be so large tomorrow, but I will be here
till 9pm," this warm, simple man explains.

It is often said that a place is defined by the people in it. The
Bicholim market was one such place. Be it the harrowed constable, the
humorous fisherfolk or the friendly florist, each gave us something
that money certainly can't buy - a smile on our lips and contentment
in our hearts.

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/news/city/goa/Feel-the-rush/articleshow/4977017.cms
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