Flowers, linen, lingerie-take it all on the great railway bazaar
8 am. Morning rush. Hordes of vendors selling just about anything that fits into the household spectrum, materialise. Offering hair accessories, bindis, bangles, even undergarments to fruits, books, bedsheets, stationery, snacks. At prices that would make wholesalers blush and commuters happy.
This is the Great Train Bazaar. Roughly a Rs. 150-crore informal market that thrives on railway property and helps 15,000-odd people make a living. Here, years of experience have ensured optimum results in time, price and client management. With low overheads, minimum manufacturing expenses, zero advertising cost with the good word spreading from mouth to mouth, establishment cost almost negative except the occasional payout to the law and order machinery, yet competition at its feverish best, this haat-on-railtracks seasoned shopkeepers at the glittering supermarts a run for their money and customer service.
From noon the momentum builds up, household spectrum, materialise. Offering peaking between 5:30 and 7 in the evening to coincide with the homeward rush. Morning specialities are flowers to adorn your hair. And then, there are items that can be bought throughout the day up to 10 in the night-custume jewellery, hair bands, magazines. After 1 pm, as teachers, students and part-timers return home, there are fruits and vegetables, childern's books, toys, snacks from Gujarati cooperatives and, on a lucky day, even dry fruits. Travel homewards and relax with an afternoon tabloid while you munch on homemade samosas or batata wadas sold by housewives doing part-time business. Regulars can also place larger, party orders in advance. Though the biggest buyers are the second class women commuters, accounting for nearly 90 per cent of the offtake, men aren't ignored. Handkerchiefs, Cole race books, packaged peanuts, wallets and, for some un. fathomable reason, agarbattis are thrust at them.
Here, business has its peaks and troughs too. The lucrative period of the month is the first 10 days. When the salary is still warming the wallet, the most expensive items are on display. Day and nightwear for women, costing up to Rs 500 a piece, is briskly passed through the rank and file in the compartment, prices hissed alongside. As are monthly provisions like masalas, pickles, and ready-to-fry, packaged snacks. And a wide range of household items like television covers, table mats and bed linen.
Product ranges are dictated by the seller's savoir faire. So while the Kurla Sindhi brings nighties and blouses in cotton and terrycotton in the Rs 30 to Rs 75 range, Hasuben from Ghatkopar offers lacy options at Rs 100. A Bengali bank clerk sells traditional cotton sarees from a large plastic bag, a more enterprising Gujarati hawks polyester wash-and-wear from Surat and tries to rope in sub-distributors among buyers. For a loyal clientele that has developed by word of mouth. Says nightgown-seller Priya Umape: "I work on faith and trust and no one has ever cheated me." Place an order and it will reach you through the distribution network of commuters if you share the bonhomie, never mind the train you take.
Sometimes, these informal wares may fall short in quality, but the hawkers would make up for it in customer service. Regulars can even enjoy interest-free credit, free home trials and exchange offers. No bills, no receipts, no jotting down of name, address or phone number. Just plain, mutual trust, a tradition set by the original Gujarati businessmen over a 100 years ago when they taught Bombay how to trade.
The rail bazaar's secret of success: convenience to customers. For the housewife who has to cook after reaching home at 8 pm, buying vegetables and preparing them for the stove while travelling certainly eases the pressure. Marking the hectic commerce is a unique, personal touch. Take the old lady selling farsan (a Gujarati snack) who might sometimes throw in a couple of recipes free. Or the fruit seller who surreptitiously slips in an extra orange if you are her boni or inaugural client.
Unfortunately outnumbered are the people who find the hustle-bustle of the railway haat getting in their way. "It is illegal work but it is in keeping with the ethos of the city," concedes Rakesh Saksena, chief public relations officer, Central Railway. Not surprisingly, no badgering by the authorities has a long-term impact. The last two decades have witnessed only growth. The Railways do their bit by booking and fining vendors during regular clean-up drives. The latter discount this as an occupational hazard and build the cost into their pricing so as not to affect their earnings of Rs 50-250 a day. Says Malti who sells fried snacks at Rs 2 a packet: "We have had to reduce the quantity in the packets to account for the increase in raids." A more or less symbiotic arrangement has now emerged between the sellers and the Railway Police. Territories have been divided and the vendors pay a fee to the concerned to continue their work.
Given the religious schedule, time management is the essence of success. Also revered is the Rolls Royce-inspired single product portfolio. Home-baked wisdom has cut into processing time, prompting bhel and peanut vendors to hawk dry, ready-to-grab packs at Rs 5 a pack. "The price point is crucial," explains a vendor, "because shuffling for change leads to a vanishing clientele."
"It's a sea of opportunity" comments a fruit-seller. Especially for little boys and girls who can't seem to resist this exciting world on wheels. Some like Malti work after school but most have opted out of school. "School is boring but here I can roam freely," says Manda, perilously swinging out of the train and belting out a Karishma Kapoor chartbuster with gay abandon. Agrees eight-year-old Ramesh, selling women's undergarments on the Harbour line. All three are apprentices with their elder siblings.
Once marred by furious arguments and fights, the bazaar territories are well-distributed among vendors. Defined beats result in negligible overlap. Those selling the same goods divide stations. One gets on the train, sells his wares and gets down after a few stations to make way for his brethren. The well-knit network keeps everyone happy. Similar rules apply for the new recruit, who must get in through a regular vendor, get introduced to the suppliers, place a deposit and take his delivery. It's a trial and error business; each day shapes your fortune.
As day drifts into night, it's time to take stock,, count the day's pickings, place orders and replenish the basket of goodies. And join the sea of commuters as a new dawn breaks. ·