A voice looms from a nearby walkway . Crossed legged , buddha like , a man dictates directions from the wooden construction . The boats follow his gestures and part way , turn around , or move aside as if the sorcerer ’ s apprentice is beginning his second act . Unlike that apprentice this is all under control , perhaps the man is a conductor .
A woman in traditional dress glides across a nearby bridge , the construction has seen much better days , the woman seems to worry little and confidently finishes her traverse . Another woman paddles her shikara from the misty darkness of a nearby enclave , her husband says little as he surveys the scene . Looking for a bargain or just assessing the mornings happenings ?
My own assessment indicates that this is most certainly a city of its own being within the waters of Dal . The market itself just a town square amongst the many homes , businesses , schools , and places of worship .
The traders continue their tasks , looking for something to return home with , to replenish a business ’ s supplies , or just the thrill of a morning sales ritual . Cauliflower , beans , carrots , eggplant , everything is here including nadur , the stem of the lotus plant and used in many local dishes .
A birdsong indicates that the market is done for the day , the sun now well above the horizon , the many traders and farmers bid farewell to each and begin to return to their businesses and fields . Our shikara turns and begins the casual journey back to Shera Palace .
Passing numerous shopfronts , I marvel at how this market scene has played out for generations , day after day , regardless of religious significance or curfew imposed . In fact , it is thought to be India ’ s oldest continual floating market and the
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