You see them everywhere – on busy streets, in colony lanes, temple gates – across Chennai. Women squatting on pavements, under the glare of the southern sun, hunched over an upturned crate overlaid with a plastic sheet on which sit mounds of riotously coloured flowers – malli, mulla, jaati, kanakambaram. Even as they call out to passing pedestrians the women’s fingers are busy knotting loose flowers into strings.
The flower strings are sold by a muzham, roughly an elbow length of a string. If you ask for one, the women will cheerfully throw in a finger length extra with the kind of generosity hawkers ever show. When it is wedding season or a month of rituals, the price shoots up to Rs 50-60, otherwise it is around Rs 30.
As in many other parts of the south, flowers are an integral part of everyday life. As oversized garlands around the necks of politicians waving to the masses from podiums, as ornaments wound around or tucked into braids and buns, accessories to many rites and rituals. And it is the women who are the backbone of this informal economy, but at the lowest and least profitable rung of the business in Chennai. The big-money wholesale and retail trade run out of Koyambedu and Parry’s is the domain of men.
Archita Raghu brings you a delectable story this week on the place of Chennai’s indefatigable women flower sellers, their precarious lives and craft. There is Ammu, a hawker on a street in southern Chennai who says for her flowers are “thozhil, ulaippu, coolie (work, hard and informal labour)”, a day’s meal for her family and the means to repay the interest on a Rs 40,000 loan. “Rain or shine, Covid or fever, we work every day. Indha poo thozhil la kaanjipeirkom (this flower business drains us out).”
As the rest of Chennai slumbers, around 3am, Ammu boards the pink 21G bus from her home in Mylapore to the Parry’s wholesale flower bazaar on a half hour journey. She will return yet again to this wholesale market from her Abhiramapuram stall at 1 pm to buy just jasmines as they arrive fresh from fields. Weaving these flower muzhams and dealing with customers takes up the rest of her day though the summer heat has left her feeling drained and feverish. The profits at the end of the day for her? Somewhere between Rs 250-500.
Evictions, exhaustion and poor earnings are all in a day’s work for the women. But there is also pride in the skills learnt, often from mothers – how to not bruise fragile flowers, how to stack them into a string, how to suss out a customer, predict demand and know the neighbourhood.
Read our story here.