Small wonder

A vegetable stall in SDA market with a wall that has extraordinary detailing

One day, when we will buy all our veggies online, this stall might be recreated on canvas by artists pining for the recent past.

It’s a long establishment on the pavement. The counter has a series of plastic crates, upon which is arranged another set of crates, in which lie gobhi (cauliflower), carrots, spinach, brinjal, lauki (bottle gourd) and so on—producing a vibrant symphony of colours. This by itself isn’t extraordinary.

But the wall behind shows a palette of extraordinary detailing that screams for attention. It is decked up with a clock, a few old-fashioned switchboards, and very many posters, all of which have a religious flavour, showing pivotal scenes from timeless epics.

Such is the enchanting world of this unnamed vegetable stall at Bhim Nagri Mini Market, in south Delhi’s SDA colony. It’s a rare sighting. These days you are bound to see either footpath shacks in the weekly mandi, or vendors wheeling their elemental thelas about the hoods, crying out “aloo le lo”. Each neighbourhood still does have at least one permanent veggie shop, but rarely does it have a character as rich as our current object of interest.

One can keep staring at the wall for many minutes. Every poster contains a world. One shows Arjun and Lord Krishna on the battleground of the Mahabharata. Another has a baby Krishna with his finger upon his lips, as if asking the viewer, “Can you keep a secret?” Next to it, a big poster shows Lord Hanuman with a special Hanuman aarti printed in the lower half.

“This is like a temple,” admits Sargam Lal Shukla, the person manning the counter this afternoon. “I was born at the feet of lord Ram,” he says, referring to the city of Ayodhya in UP. He informs that the stall was “opened by my tauji Phool Singh in 1965”.

He now pulls out his cycle and rides away to deliver broccoli, zucchini and mushrooms to a home nearby. The stall falls silent.

One can inspect about in greater concentration, each facet looking so well-settled that the stall appears to be growing out from the very soil of this footpath. But then you notice the roof, which is but a sheet of raggedy canvas spread upon wooden ballis. That such an improvised arrangement looks so rooted is a wonder. And the consequent wonder — if this 50-year-old stall can survive 50 more years on this spot — makes it even more precious. You ought to celebrate this place as one of those landmarks that give our city its illusion of permanence, while themselves being so fragile.

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