But to me, it's just one of those little endearing corners of the city that keep me sane. I find it particularly awesome on Mondays -- the day when traditional stores in the market are closed.
"Bhai saab, Sarojini market," I said to the rickshaw wallah. After asking me to pay double the meter price, I stopped argued for a bit with him in my broken Hindi, and he came down. Then, as we puttered out of Defence Colony, he caught my eye in his mirror.
"Madam? Sarojini Monday bandh."
I wobbled my head, yes yes, fine, I know, crazy white girl. Apparently my friend was unaware that Monday is, in fact, the optimal day to visit Sarojini, because that's the day when the sellers offer the best deals -- men and women spread tarps on the ground and unload masses of garments, each going for no more than Rs 30, most either priced Rs 10 or Rs 20. I suspect that this is because they have perhaps pilfered their goods, but that doesn't matter much to me; someone is getting paid, and I am getting something in return. The world works.
The sun was shining but not blazing, the sky was blue, and I frivolously bought things I fancied, though I likely won't wear most of them. I took myself out for a vegetarian thali and bought some yogurt, stocked up on some fabulous looking mangoes, and treated a little coolie boy to a kulfi. A great day indeed.
(In the picture: a cool circle skirt, a funky blue corduroy pleated skirt, and, the piece de resistance, a summery Kashmiri-embroidered jacket for a fetching Rs 10.)