V is for Vendors

Vendors in that part of India we were visiting, set up wherever it appeared to be opportune. This could be in makeshift roadside stalls, stalls on carts ready to be moved at a moment’s notice or in more permanent structures.

They sell everything from trishaw rides, to oranges, jewellery or souvenirs, and we happily availed ourselves of their offerings in several places.

Mostly theirs is a benign presence. They might hawk their wares, but leave it to the customer to decide whether they want to buy or not. This is different in places that are obvious tourist traps.

The only occasion where I felt uncomfortably harrasssed was at Fatephur Sikri where the young vendors seemed to hunt in packs and, despite my signalling my disinterest, they persisted.  It was my own fault, I guess. In other countries such as Thailand and France, I had learned enough of the language to say thank you and to tell them to move on. I hadn’t done that here, believing that our guide would be the intermediary. Unlike all the others, the guide we had on this day was impervious to my signals. Lesson learned.  It’s back to making sure that I can speak up for myself, independent of others.


<Photos to follow when I have shore-based internet! :( >

No spinning a yarn,
With money thin on the ground,
Pestering might work.


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