I met her for the first time on an Onam day, six years ago, on the sidewalks of the road leading to the Upanagara bus stand. She was selling flowers along with many other pushcart sellers. I bought flowers from her on that Onam day. She had a peculiar North Karnataka accent and language, slightly difficult to understand for an outsider with limited proficiency in Kannada. Over these years, as Yelahanka New Town changed from a sleeping village to a bustling suburb, unlike many other street sellers, she did not change much. She wore the same polyester saree and a blue cotton blouse. Her unwashed hair always looked untidy.
Those familiar with Bengaluru would know that in Bengaluru, most of the grocery, hardware, electronic, textile, medical, and stationery kind of shops are owned by Marwadi families from Rajasthan. Bakeries are run by Malayalees, real estate businesses by Andhrites, and restaurants are partly owned by Andhrites and partly by Kannadigas. I often felt that there is some kind of unwritten code that exists in Bengaluru's business world. In that same code of business, pushcarts, it seems, are meant to be operated by Kannadigas only. One will rarely find anyone else doing business on pushcarts.
Coming back to my story, over the years, I had many conversations with her, and with the changing times, she also started selling seasonal fruits on her cart. Whenever possible, I started buying fruits from her. As she would always park her cart near my homeopathic medicine shop, it was very convenient for me to buy fruits from her. Whenever I bought flowers or fruits, she used to give some extra pieces of fruits or flowers to me, along with some pep talks and a bright smile. Although I once asked her name, with her North Kannada accent, all that I could gather was that it ended with an 'amma,' as many names in the villages usually sound like.
Today, after a long interval, when I went to give her a food kit in the morning, she was not there. A young man was standing there with another cart. I was told that she has gone. Covid didn't spare her. I don't know if anybody would have noticed her absence from that small corner of a developing city. Like many others, despite their constant presence, they always go unnoticed in our city life
Invisibles
Yelahanka flower lady
Acrylic on paper
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