Q. Write an essay describing a street market in summer.

A STREET MARKET

The heat and clamour of the day was becoming steadily intolerable. The road
stretched away into the distance, lined on either side with stalls and tables, stacks and
piles – all overflowing with the most amazing variety of fruits and vegetables, plastics
and clothes, flowers and pottery. One could observe sounds, colours, sights and smells
in every direction one headed.

The vendors called loudly to entice those standing closest to sample their wares, as
they polished fruits to a flawless shine with a soiled rag. Customers weaved in
between the overloaded stalls, gingerly picking their way over the grimy ground.
Apples, oranges, pears and watermelons shone happily at the buyers exposing their
smooth sides to perfection.

Yeasty smells of freshly baking bread wafted in from the bakery behind mingled with
the sweet smells of the fruit that had been cut open to reveal their wet and juicy
insides on display, and merged with the damp sweaty odours of the numerous bodies
thrusting and shoving past each other.

One of the customers stood haggling in a harsh grating voice, waving his hands
around and making wide violent gestures at the exasperated spice seller. An array of
wicked looking green chillies, dry ginger and smug garlic bulbs rested on the cart in
front of him and gave off a wonderfully pungent smell as he sprinkled them from time
to time with water droplets to resume their shine and fragrance.

I walked over to an old man, squatting tiredly on an upturned crate, beside his basket
of tough but hollow thirst quenching coconuts. He mopped his sweaty forehead with a
dirty rag and smiled welcomingly, asking me if I would like some coconut water. I
nodded and was rewarded with the sight of him hacking away at the top outer
covering of the coconut with a long sharp knife. He finally cut a hole into the top and
inserted a straw so I could relish the sweet mellow water within.

Refreshed and hydrated, I turned to the plastic-ware seller, whose sheet, stretched on
the ground, displayed all manner of bric bracs from tiny combs to colourful mugs,
from tough looking scrubbing brushes to gaudy bundles of nylon rope and cheap
doormats. I picked out ,and paid for, a box of tiny pink toothpicks, hoping to use them
in my next science project.

It was time for me to leave, but the market was still bustling with activity, people
hurrying to and fro, stuffing their over filled bags with vegetables and fruits, packets
of biscuits or breads. They walked with grim but zealous determination despite being
weighed down by their loads, unbothered by the sea of people they had to push
against or the flies that constantly buzzed into their faces, slapping them away
impatiently and moving ahead.

The day would not be done for these vendors and customers for a long time yet.