Dazey's World

Whitechapel

Whitechapel is an interesting place. Ive been living here for over a year now, walking through the main market almost everyday, and it rarely fails to surprise me. The other day there was a fellow sleeping spread eagled on the ground in front of the library. And there’s the people who come wearing the most fascinatingly mismatched clothing in every colour of the rainbow. Then there’s the interesting ‘hijabis’, the more frequent additions to the general populace. Head to toe wearing what can only be described as a second skin, topped off with a hijab. Or better yet, wearing jeans and a sleeveless top complete with an immaculate headscarf. I look forward to the day I am made to understand such things – if ever.

And ofcourse there’s the sellers themselves, the indispensable components of the market place experience. The Chinese fake dvd sellers are the latest addition. Well, maybe not That latest. Its been several months atleast. But they are there, scattered among the shops and stalls, attempting to coax passers by into buying dvds of minimal quality in very eloquent language (the average english vocabulary of these sellers consists of: ‘dvd’, ‘hello’, ‘buy’ and ‘very good copy’). And they’re good. Ive fallen for it a record number of times with no sign of future resistance.

The stall owners themselves are a singular category of people. There are the big-bearded Arab fish sellers (their stall contributes substantially to the smell of the place) selling fish at astonishingly low prices. Its Tower Hamlets and these people know their customers. And rumour has it that there are scholars among them (I Knew those beards meant something). Really, only whitechapel could have taught me to develop deep respect for a man who sells fish at the top of his lungs. And its not only the fish sellers that resemble muslim father Christmases. Some of the hijab stall owners seem to be competing for the top spot.

Then there’s the old (but very strong and fit) Indian lady with the large bric-a-brac and haberdashery stall. A woman not to be trifled with, she stands among her ware, an ominous pillar, immune to haggling of any shape and form. Trust me, ive tried it. Several times.

Yet its not only the people selling things that are after our money. God bless the eastern European refugees if they weren’t there trying to get you to give the cash away free of charge. One tends to develop a hardened immunity to them, sadly. My most frequent tactic is to walk staring unblinkingly ahead. One feels harsh, but then seeing the same fit-and-capable-of-making-a-living individuals in the same spot day after day has that effect.

Yet despite all the eccentric and often unfavourable peculiarities of Whitechapel market, the place remains a people magnet, drawing in the crowds to join in the multi-coloured, multi-cultural milieu. And yes, I’m probably an unfortunate and utterly helpless victim of the Attraction – whether I like to admit it or not. Torn between attraction and repulsion, I’m not entirely sure where I stand. I would like to tell myself I don’t like the place. Yet why is the day incomplete without a saunter among the outlandish mayhem? And why else would I spend the evening writing about the place?

posted by dazey @ 12:05 PM