A Morning at The Flower Market
At last, I've made it to Madurai.
Often referred to as “Temple City”, this town is one of the oldest in the world. Its rich history and Dravidian architecture commonly amass tourists from all over the place.
I, however, am here to spend some time with my beloved Grandparents.
It's surprising that I hadn’t already stopped at the local flower market before this trip. Those who know me well will understand that a visit to any flower market is comparable to waltzing into the gates of heaven. Not that I know what that feels like, exactly.
In India, flowers are more than just beautiful beings; they're a way of life. Buds are customarily threaded together to create garlands for the deities. Similarly, women here use fragrant chains of jasmine to pin into their hair.
The market itself is packed to the brim. There’s a lot of pushing, a lot of shoving, and a whole lot of yelling. But to be a flower implies sitting and looking pretty, whatever the temperament of others.