Vegetables ain't so easy...

So, I get up in the morning, and immediately know why I don’t want to get out of bed,
I have an empty fridge, says something in my head.
It’s time I set out, cast aside inhibitions and decide to explore,
Something quite essential for survival – the vegetable market of Vellore!
Armed with purse, umbrella to beat the heat,
I pull on a tee, strap my sandals to my feet;
I ask a shopkeeper for directions and reach the designated spot,
It’s only 8 am – barely morning – and it’s already sooo hot 
And I’m rooted to the ground, with the sight that lies ahead,
I just want to turn around and run back into bed.
It’s a vegetable market alright, if you can see beyond the people and flies,
And the stench, Heaven save me, worse than rotting fish and fries.
I stand and watch bewildered, trying to make sense out of the seeming confusion,
Muster up my courage – am I brave enough for this mission?
Deep breath, I plunge right it, holding my nose,
Through the pack of people, huddled so close,
(You can even smell the sweat in their armpits,
I just hope that their hair hasn’t got nits!)
There’s no such thing as being polite,
Just make your way through, it’s really quite alright.
You have to be pushy; standing lost won’t get you anywhere,
Of manners and etiquette, you mustn’t have a care.
Direct yourself to the vendors with their goods heaped up on dirty ol’ sacks,
They’re hygiene factor really sucks, I have to say, is really quite lax!
Asking the price is useless because no matter how you try,
The answer will come out as a rapid, alien, rural Tamil, undecipherable cry.
If you don’t know the language, don’t make it obvious, they can smell a novice from far,
And you’ll be cheated of your pennies and be given cauliflower that is sour.
Choose the freshest ones quickly; be on your toes,
For someone else might grab the carrots you want, from under you nose.
In the crowd be careful of your purse, wallet, your money,
For if the pick pockets clean you out, it really won’t be funny.
If you’re a strict vegetarian, try to ignore the market’s other side,
Cooped up dying chickens, and the already dead ones – their inners turned outside.
Fish mongers, hacking away at fish heads, tails, eyes,
And, aaagh, yet more of those wretched, wretched flies.
Oh, and did I mention the little dirty stream of stagnant water that runs by,
The stench is unbearable, you can’t ignore it, don’t even try.
That veggies aren’t washed in that watery filth, you can but only hope,
From the smell of things around, these people haven’t even heard of soap!

It was all I could do to shove, grab, pay and escape,
Before, all my poor assaulted senses got bruised outta shape.
Before the odour got into my newly washed hair,
I had to get out, to get some fresh air.
So I emerged, juggling the various bags I now held, and me, my sweat mopping,
I couldn’t help feeling triumphant for doing something as ordinary as vegetable shopping!