After school, Chameli made her way to the bustling local market, a labyrinth of narrow alleys crammed with vendors hawking everything from fresh produce to cheap plastic toys. The air was thick with the mingling scents of ripe mangoes, frying samosas, and the occasional whiff of sewage from an open drain. She clutched the small pouch of money her father had given her, the coins and crumpled notes feeling pitifully light in her hand. It was barely enough to buy the essentials, but she was determined to make it stretch.
She approached the vegetable vendor, an elderly man with a face as wrinkled as the potatoes he sold. His stall was a riot of colors—bright orange carrots, deep purple eggplants, and vibrant green spinach leaves piled high in wicker baskets. Chameli picked through the produce, her fingers brushing against the cool, firm skin of a tomato. "How much for these?" she asked, holding up a handful of onions.
The vendor squinted at her, his eyes sharp despite his age. "Twenty rupees for the lot," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.
Chameli frowned, her brows knitting together. "Twenty? Last week they were fifteen."
The vendor chuckled, shaking his head. "Prices go up, girl. Not my fault. Blame the rain—ruined half the crops this season."
She sighed, knowing he had a point. The monsoon had been relentless this year, flooding fields and driving up prices. Still, she wasn't about to give in so easily. "Eighteen," she countered, her tone firm. "And I'll take these chilies too." She held up a small bunch of green chilies, their glossy skins catching the sunlight.
The vendor raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her bargaining skills. "You drive a hard bargain, girl. Fine, eighteen. But only because you're a regular."
Chameli smiled, a small victory warming her chest. She handed over the money, careful to count it twice before passing it to him. As she tucked the vegetables into her cloth bag, she spotted a small pile of slightly bruised tomatoes at the corner of the stall. "What about those?" she asked, pointing. "How much for the damaged ones?"
The vendor waved a hand dismissively. "Take them for five rupees. No one else will buy them anyway."
She handed over the coins, adding the tomatoes to her bag. They weren't perfect, but they'd do for a curry. As she turned to leave, the vendor called after her, "You've got your mother's spirit, girl. She used to haggle just like you."
Chameli froze, her heart skipping a beat. She rarely heard anyone mention her mother, and the words caught her off guard. "You knew her?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The vendor nodded, his expression softening. "She was a good woman. Always had a smile, even when times were tough." He paused, as if debating whether to say more, then added, "You remind me of her."
Chameli felt a lump rise in her throat, but she forced a smile. "Thank you," she said quietly before turning away, her bag heavier with vegetables and memories.
As she walked through the market, she passed a stall selling bangles, their glassy surfaces catching the light and scattering it in tiny rainbows. A group of girls her age stood there, giggling as they tried on bracelets and admired their reflections in a small mirror. Chameli paused for a moment, watching them. She recognized one of the girls—Meera, from her class. Meera caught her eye and waved, but Chameli quickly looked away, pretending not to see her. She didn't have time for bangles or giggles. Not today.
Her next stop was the grain seller, a burly man with a booming voice and a scale that looked older than he was. She bought a small bag of rice, haggling again to get a better price. By the time she was done, her pouch was nearly empty, but her bag was full. She felt a small sense of pride at having managed to get so much with so little.
As she made her way home, the weight of the groceries digging into her shoulder, she passed a group of men gathered outside a tea stall. They were loud and boisterous, their laughter cutting through the hum of the market. One of them noticed her and whistled, calling out, "Hey, beautiful! Come join us for chai!"
Chameli ignored him, her jaw tightening as she quickened her pace. She was used to this kind of attention, but it never failed to make her skin crawl. She kept her eyes forward, her grip on the bag tightening as she walked. The men's laughter followed her, fading only when she turned the corner onto her street.
When she finally reached her building, she paused at the entrance, taking a moment to catch her breath. The stairs loomed ahead, dark and narrow, but she climbed them quickly, her mind already turning to the evening ahead. She would cook dinner, help her father with whatever he needed, and maybe, if she had time, finish her homework. It was just another day in her life.