The Lall Bazaar Original

Anupa Rai

ANYONE WHO HAS been visiting Lall Bazaar would have, at some stage or the other, noticed this septuagenarian crowded in by the wares he sell from Shop No 60 at the re-appointed Kanchanjunga Shopping Complex. It does not matter after how long you are visiting the Lall Bazaar, Kul Bahadur Limboo, would definitely have been there; his trade there is after all, as old as Lall Bazaar itself! In fact, he has been holding a stall for Gangtok haats since before Lall Bazaar itself, and is today, perhaps the only original shopkeeper from the day when Lall Bazaar was opened back in 1957.

Most Gangtokians remember Lall Bazaar as the ground level, blue tarpaulin covered sabzi market with a smattering of foreign shops. Few have seen the area where the ‘shopping complex’ now stands as a dirty Sisnu Ghari with a row of pig sties at the far end. Kul Bahadur Limboo is one of those rare old Gangtokians. He has seen the Sisnu Ghari make way for vegetable stalls and seen Lall Bazaar acquire new faces, and now a new façade as well. He is a face in the crowd who has seen a lot. In his 75 years, he has witnessed a tiny rural market with a handful of stalls, grow into a concrete structure where one could easily get lost now. He is the oldest stall owner here, a permanent since Lal Bazar was opened for business in 1957. He started ‘business’ when he was still in his teens, a lad of 18. He started his business from MG Marg before Lall Bazaar was constructed. And he is an old at MG Marg as well, arriving there at a time when the only cement structure in town was the building where the State Bank of India is housed. This building, he shares, held the record [of being the only concrete structure at MG Marg till 1955.

But why was he at MG Marg? Well, in the days before Lall Bazaar, the Sunday haat used to spread out at MG Marg! Those were days when the concept of measuring weights in kilograms had not yet gained ground in Sikkim. “Everything was measured in seers,” he shares. He started with selling vegetables grown at home [he hails from Sichey] and after a few months started selling tobacco leaves as well. The next investment was to start selling Sidhra [dried smoked fish]. This trade has also earned him his monicker; everyone in Lall Bazaar refers to him as “Sidhrau Budo”.

“We used to pay One Anna [16 annas make one rupee] as tax on every haat at that time,” he informs.

To get an idea of how much he has seen things change, sample this: When he started out, he would sell a seer of Sidhra for Rs. 1.50 per seer; he sells the same product for Rs. 200 per kilo now! Before moving on with his story, when did he switch from measuring his products in seers to kgs? He bought his first kilo weight in 1968, he recalls. In 1957, he moved to Lall Bazaar with its inauguration.

“The market was under the charge of Dewan Lall Saheb, one of Chogyal’s officials,” he explains.

He acquired his first stall at Lall Bazaar on a rental of 25 paise. He shares that none of those who started out at Lall Bazaar with him are around anymore, at least not running shops here.

As mentioned, he started selling Sidhra soon and used to pick up his consignment from Siliguri. That, interestingly, was also the first time that he felt the need to buy shoes! His travels to Siliguri requiring proper footwear. But he would travel to Siliguri only once a year initially, buy a seat on the jeep for Rs. 3, picking up 12 mann [480 kgs] of Sidhra which would last him the year. The switch from a vegetable vendor to a Sidhra seller, he explains as the convenience of not having to worry about his consignment getting spoilt. Vegetables decay fast, and Sidhra literally lasts forever, he winks. He still sells it. For a man of his obvious entrepreneurial skills, there must have been many opportunities that presented themselves to take him away to new ventures. Ask him about it, and he admits that there were many offers, even government employment, but he refused all of them.

“I did not want to work under anybody,” he explains.

And the pride of being his own master adds character to his shop where he lords supreme, crowded in by an assortment of wares and his walking stick nearby for when it is time to leave.

This refusal to kowtow and flow with the tide also manifests in his faith. Beaming with pride, Kul Bahadur Limboo reveals that he remains a practitioner of the original Subba faith, Yuma, a faith which many his tribe have lost or forgotten. He might be selling Sidhra and tobacco leaves at Kanchanjunga Shopping Complex now, but Kul Bahadur also remains a farmer at heart. He is physically built like one- tough and sinewy, and warms up even more when you divert the conversation from shopkeeping to farming.

“Of course I am a farmer and love being in the fields. Till last year, I could even plough the fields on my own,” he states.

Before he can continue, the conversation is interrupted by a visit from officials of the Tobacco Control Cell, warning him not to keep tobacco leaves for sale [something he has been doing for more than 50 years]. Kul Bahadur Limboo makes an effortless switchover from the proud senior citizen to a compliant shopkeeper, addressing the official as ‘hajoor’ and humbly discussing the matter. He is good at this part of the job as well. He has a lot of experience after all.

Then it was time for a photo-shoot, the conversation over for the day, and Kul Bahadur Limboo strikes a smart pose, the lines on his face creasing experience and his posture beaming the confidence a self-made man.

[This article was first published in Sikkim NOW! in 2011.]