I love walking through bazaars. They are so exuberant and pretty. So many haphazard symmetries and smudges of color. I like looking at blizzard of hoardings that pierce through the sky like architecural erectile dysfunctions - each one with its own idiosyncratic signature; one will have a florid pink background with Tang-colored lettering. Another will have a quirky spelling error - 'Plane dosas' and 'mineral woter'. Yet another will have so much to say that you want to gag it: 'Best, export-import quality, good surplus, no damaged piece, filmstar style, well-fitting, tailored, wonderful price for best export-import quality...'
There is something being peddled practically on every inch of available space. Ceramic pots, nuts and bolts, printer paper, snacks, food, and drinks. Each shop or cart is adjusted in this crazy, calculated method that there is just enough space for people to stop by, browse, buy, and move on. This arrangement of space, designed purely for business, is fascinating.
There is a lot of jostling, but there is place for everything.
I am reminded of a line I read in the menu of Chor Bizarre - '....here, nothing matches but everything gels.'