Those Bulging Eyes

This is about a short Diwali shopping trip to Charminar. The evening sky was clear and brilliant red. I threaded my way slowly through the tide of people occasionally hopping and side stepping trying to avoid colliding with fellow shoppers. The horn of the vehicles shrieked and the hawkers on the pavement changed their voice and rhythm to attract customers under their canopies. The market was flashing with the intensity of distinctive hues of colors. People bargained in hushed tones and sometimes it leads to aggressive roars.

I went under one such canopy to look for some lac bangles. I saw out of the corner of my eye an old woman probably in her seventies approaching the canopy where I stood. She was wearing a mustard-colored sari carefully tucked and pleated. Her hair was silver with a center parting and pulled into a bun at the back. Her perfume was tantalizing. Her beautiful bulging eyes had a hint of khol as well as had a sparkle of a little girl and told several stories.

The voice of the hawker broke my reverie. The woman’s voice was like the tinkle of a temple bell. Looking at her appearance seemed she never awaited anyone’s approval as she carried an aura of self-confidence and will power. She carefully chose a few earrings, bracelets, and bangles and put them on looked at the mirror, like a teenager. She carefully calculated and settled the deal, put everything in her handbag striding confidently knifed her way through the swarm of people merging in them. Well once a fashionista, always a fashionista.