Shanti — Water Pump market’s Wonder Woman

As the city wakes up to set in motion the hustle and bustle seen a few hours after daybreak, Shanti arrives at the crowded Water Pump Market, located in District Central, to set up her vegetable stall.

With an assortment of greens, reds and yellows, Shanti puts in order lemons and tomatoes in plastic baskets alongside fresh mint and coriander bunches on her cart, a combination that stimulates one’s olfactory senses.

“I started off from this very spot over 30 years ago. I used to sit on a mat spread out on the road. Initially, I just sold lemons but later added green chillies and coriander to my stall. Now I have almost all vegetables,” she humbly narrates.

Balancing the weight of blue plastic bags filled with grocery items, the market is dominated by women only as customers; the shops are largely run by men. But the only person tipping the scales of this stereotypical balance is Shanti, who remains admirably unaffected by the fact that she is the only female merchant in the market.

“My brother’s wife used to have a small stall in the next section and my sister worked here too. Both of them have passed away now and I am the only one taking the legacy forward,” she laughs.

Before setting up a vegetable stall, Shanti used to sell parrots but as the sole breadwinner for her family, she soon realised she had to change to a more profitable product.

A resident of New Karachi, Shanti lives near the Sindhi Hotel. She heads to work at 9am via public transport, with no off days unless she feels under the weather or there is a special occasion.

“I take the W-11 bus to reach the market at 9am and head back home by 9pm after doing the day’s accounts. Often when I leave, there is only the night guard here; he’s the one who makes sure nobody steals our goods,” she says.

However, it is far from smooth sailing for Shanti as there are at least three groups who take a cut from her daily earnings. “There are policemen, civic workers and sweepers who take different amounts from us. The policemen take Rs30, the other two Rs20 each.”

Apart from these people, there are customers who at times give her a tough time.

“I have many old customers who do understand that my life is tough but there are some who break my spirit,” Shanti shares as one customer just walks away without paying her the full amount.

“They do not understand that even Rs10 is important for me. People can be very clever; at times they take the vegetables and say that they’re going to the other end to fetch some change but they never come back.”

“Once a man had sent his domestic helper to buy vegetables from me. The man took the grocery and told me he was going to the car to fetch money from his sahab. He never came back. I still remember the amount he owed me; it was Rs370,” she sighs.

“I can’t run after them now, can I? What’s gone is gone, I only have to God ask for help,” Shanti says with a wry smile.

As cruel as the world could be to Shanti, her ailing health has now added to her troubles. However, her resilience seems to know no bounds and she has now taught her son to carry on with the dealings.  

“There was a time when I used to go the mandi (wholesale market) myself to buy the day’s stock. Now my son saves me that trouble. My daughters, on the other hand, stay at home and I’ll be marrying them off soon.”

Sharing more details about her household, Shanti narrates that her husband used to help by doing odd jobs but has been homebound ever since he lost his eyesight in an accident three years ago. 

Making around Rs2,000 to Rs2,500 on a good day, Shanti feels that the recent boycott of fruits was cruel because the vendors have little say when it comes to price hike.

“I can’t force the wholesalers to sell at lower rates. Rather, if I don’t buy from them I won’t be able to sell anything and will end up going home without money.” 

On special occasions such as Holi, Diwali and others, Shanti stays at home. “I just pray at home. I seldom go to the temple because of my health. My children go, though, and they do have fun.”

As the toughened vegetable seller continues her story, a man pushing his cart across the road swears loudly. Though he attracts Shanti’s attention, the woman does not bat an eyelid.

“I am only bothered by people who come to collect a cut from our money. But even that’s not as bad as shutting down markets every time there is a political issue. As far as men are concerned, I know how to deal with them and three decades are more than enough for them to know that I’m staying around,” laughs Shanti.