It’s never quiet in Delhi. There is no such thing as a moment of silence. The constant hum of traffic, horns, electric wires, people and animals make up the city’s song. It stinks, but it’s the kind of smell that you end up falling in love with.

I am up before the sun this morning – half asleep. It’s always an early start at the flower market. People head there to stack up on decor and offerings for the Gods and temples. India has a certain layer of dirt over it, but somehow the vibrant colors compensate and almost hides it. 
As I drive into the parking lot, the rays of sun brighten up what at first sight looks to be a dirty slum market.

People are standing in line yawning, waiting for their morning chai and puffing on their beedis.
As I walk into the market, heads turn, with facial expressions that portray their concern as to what a white woman is doing in the midst of this buzz – It’s not a tourist attraction. Tired frowns turn into smiles, and aromatic chai is offered to me.

There’s something so ugly, yet so beautiful about Delhi’s flower market. There’s a well-balanced perfume of roses and rotting garbage. It’s loud and hectic. It’s filthy. Yet it’s full of spirit.
I feel like a child, not knowing what to focus my attention on. Overwhelmed by the fast-paced energy and multitude of colours and sounds – like I’m high and unable to keep up with my own thoughts.
People are in the midst of exchanging money and closing business deals. Hands busy at work, working so fast, you can tell its muscle memory. Weaving and sewing flowers together into beautiful intricate curtains and strings, that will hang and give India that colourful signature look it is famous for.
But as I look closer, behind the skilful craft, I start noticing that the hands of those who are weaving the flowers together are those of the old and the much too young to be working. And as I tilt up and get lost within their welcoming eyes and their beaming smiles, I feel embarrassed that I never have had to work as hard as they always have.
I’m nervous and ashamed at this point, and I try to make sense of what I’m feeling and thinking. Is it fair for me to feel sorry for them? Or is this just a western misconception? The “knowing” of “I have it better than them”. – but then again, “ignorance is bliss” – so, do I?
India is unlike anywhere else in the world. People here always find so much beauty amongst the challenges. 

☀︎

Director, Videographer & Editor: Satya Zoa
Sound Design & Foley Artist: Ida Skovsgaard @idsdagram
Foley Artist Assistant: Joachim Lorck-Schierning @slugzondrugz