Short, Entertaining, Fictional Story on Uzbekistan for the inquisitive reader...
Bukhara | Central Asia | Uzbekistan | Silk Route | Travel | Samarkand | Solo Travel in Uzbekistan
The crossroad was full of aromatic smoke of dil & jeera, and the sound of sizzle, as the ‘Oshpaz’ (cook) lathered the freshly cut marinated meat with butter for fresh shashliks. The gate of the crowd was in sync with the clank of the metal each time the blacksmith pounded with his hammer over fresh hot iron. The domes of the bazaar were clouded with chimes and strumming of the 'doira' & 'sato' (musical instruments), as the new ones proceeded for sound testing. The 'zolas' (aunty) added an urgency to the rhythm as they yelled out the competitive prices of the freshly harvested melons and pumpkins.
Colorful and varied shaped turbans moving in the rhythm filled the Toqi Zargaron (traders market for jewels) with a hint of chitter chatter. The energy is electric, filled with a buzz of excitement. Tradesmen from India, Persia, China, dressed in the newly traded Ikkats all settled in the ‘Avyon’ (porch) of their rest houses looking towards West occasionally, the anticipation and exhilaration showed. They munched on their juicy ‘Somsas’ a welcome feast, after a long ride through the treacherous routes of the South wing of the Silk Route after crossing god forbidden mountain passes and deserts.
I sit in the shade of a tree in the Plaza sipping chia from the ‘Ishkor’ white & blue glazed pottery and an intriguing sound of the flutes and chimes draws the attention of the Bozor. I looked and so did all the traders and sellers only to be thrilled by a new caravan entering from the West. While people squinted their eyes to see in the storming dust, the tired dry faces lit up from the double humped camel backs looking at the glittering streets of Bukhara. The caravan was colorful and festive in all possible ways against the ochre colored brick walls and domes. A tall rugged man dressed in the heavy wool stepped down from the ride and sighed in relief. He was in the heart of trade, in the heart of the world of trade, in the city of Bukhara, the place which till date attracts people from all over the world. His smile revealing the gold studded teeth inviting his crew to halt with utter joy.
They park their camels and horses at the plaza and darted at the eateries filled with fresh produce, exchanging pleasantries, with gratitude & excitement! The little one dashed towards a watermelon cart, with her flying robes, pink, sun tanned cheeks, her tiny leather boots and long braids parted two ways. She stood delighted pointing at a watermelon her size as I returned to read – The Foreign Devils of the Silk Route.
More on the book in the following post. :)
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