…which is a line from one of the poems in the show. The poem starts out in Mapusa Market in Goa, but actually when I wrote that line I was thinking more of the flower markets in Mysore. Or maybe I was thinking of my own photographs of the flower markets in Mysore – after a while, memories and the images of memories become conflated.
The flower markets in India are fantastic for the sheer abundance of blossoms, which they sell by weight. The marigolds in this picture are destined to be threaded into garlands, sold to the pious and then hung around the necks of household and temple statues. Eventually, they will be swept out and eaten by cows. Some may end up wound into a woman’s plait, with jasmine. I used to buy short threads of flowers and wear them in my hair, too.
I’m still attracted to flower stalls. This is from Newcastle last week – funny how my phone now has a better camera than my ‘proper’ camera in India!