Every morning I wake up to the sounds of street vendors
walking and biking by my apartment. The vendors may be riding a flatbed
riskshaw, known as a van, loaded with vegetables, carrying armfuls of chickens
or ducks, walking with a large metal pot on their head filled with fish or even
playing a musical instrument with extras for sale. However, it is their
distinct cries of torkari!
(vegatables), mach: pabna mach, rui mach! (fish: pabna fish, rui fish), payaj! (onion), or whatever they might
be selling that awakens me to the hot humid Lalmatia mornings. In fact, they
are so unique and loud, that the vendors’ cries have been heard all over
Bangladesh and even in some U.S. cities, as their unique voices are carried
over cell phone and skype calls. These vendors are actually one of my favorite
characteristics of living in Lalmatia, for the distinct calls do not seem to be
as present in most other parts of the city. Though once in a while I will run
downstairs to purchase something, most of the time, they act as my alarm clock,
and I sleepily translate torkari to, “Good Morning, welcome to another day in
Lalmatia!”
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