Indian Bazaars are occupied more by vehicles than humans. There are so many sounds that you hear around you. You see auto and rickshaw drivers passing by your sides, making all the noises with horns. Many families travel in their cars or couples on their bikes. Everyone is tired of walking on their feet because they need comfort.
Everyone is in a rush to be ahead of others. As you enter the bazaar, you see a number of falafel or fruit vendors. You see those big mannequins hanging in front of the shops. You see people shouting to sell their things. You see funny store boards that make you go crazy. You see the different occupations, brands, people, hear different voices.
Thousands of us wander in the streets of bazaars, unfamiliar with each other’s identities. Shopkeepers keep waiting for customers to arrive and the customers look for their needs.
Though there is a Shor(noise) of vehicles and human voices in the bazaar, there are also distinctive sounds that go in the heads. The Shor in the bazaar is not only the noise of vehicles, but it is also the voices of the needful, voices of those children who help their families by selling rather than going to school.
It’s the voices of those professions that earn more disrespect than money, the voices of the skills or talents that don’t even experience negligence, the desires that go in the head of every human wandering through those streets.
Some are worried that their kid doesn’t go missing the crowd, some are concerned about their belongings. And when the rain hits, those streets are filled with mud and chaos. The Shor that everyone escapades in the bazaar is heard. But this silent Shor in the Indian bazaar would never be heard.