Early morning, I walked through the market lanes in Srinagar. Looking from left to right, shopkeepers were taking out different items and placing them at one side of their entrances for display. Using long dusting sticks wrapped with cloth, cleaning the objects carefully. As I passed each shop, the fragrance of agarbatti drifted through the narrow market lanes. In the early morning, everything seemed fresh, the cleaned shops, the washed streets, and the people themselves, as fresh as the bodies they had washed that morning before stepping out for work, carrying with them the quiet freshness.

As I walked slowly and passed every shop which filled with fragrance of incense sticks burning inside the shops, and bunches of incense sticks were placed in front of the tables where the shopkeepers sat after dusting.
As I crossed one shop after another, I overheard the recitation of the Holy Quran. To clarify which verses were being played, I stopped for a moment at a cosmetic shop then I walked to another shop where a shopkeeper held a bunch of incense sticks, moving them slowly so that the fragrance spread throughout the shop. I gazed at him for a moment. He smiled, thinking I was a customer. I smiled back.
I carried on and stopped at another shop where the sound was a little louder than in the others. I stopped and looked inside. Surah Yaseen was playing. A female shopkeeper softly recited along with the same surah playing on her cell phone, which she held in her right hand.
I took a few steps forward and looked to my right side. Every shopkeeper held long broomsticks, cleaning their shops from inside and at the front entrances. In the corner stood an old shop where a tea seller or chaiwala was busy crushing ginger while keeping another eye on a container full of steaming tea. His helper arranged plastic chairs inside and kept two plastic chairs outside.
Going nearer, I watched, every customer came, sat down, and ordered tea. The tea seller’s assistant cleaned plates, sliced cakes, and served samosas, pieces of cake, and fried bread to customers. Everyone stopped at the shop to taste tea before going to their respective places. Labourers sat in front of the shop holding tea cups, sipping slowly, while they talking about the rise in fares. One man complained that the free service for woman had increased the fares and should be withdrawn as soon as possible. Between slow sips of tea, others discussed the Iran–Israel conflict, worrying that the price of oil would soon rise again.
That day, I did not feel like having tea, but watching the labourers gulping hot tea, I finally went inside. Without asking, the tea seller smiled at me and asked his helper to offer me a chair. I sat in front of him, quietly watching him as he poured hot tea into glasses.
“Where were you yesterday?” he asked.
“At home,” I replied.
Knowing that I preferred strong tea, he took a spoonful of tea leaves and poured it into a large steel teapot. He poured the hot tea into a disposable cup. I quickly grabbed the it, took a few sips, then gulped down the rest before leaving the shop.
I picked up my pace as more shops were opening and the movement of people in the market increased. Slowly, people began to appear in the market and visit the shops.

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