|SHE STOOD THERE ON THE RIVER COOM, DRESSED IN HER RED DRESS, AND SHE DID HER BEST TO REST HER CROWN ON THE TOWN THAT INDEED LET HER DOWN.
The Moore market was the only place for the Anglo Indian Community to greet and meet when off the street!
|Oh! Moore Market has many a story to be told, and thank God it doesn't stand to hold.
For Behold! Many of us Anglo Indians -know the truth. Which is hidden deep beneath her root.
The importance it did hold. The things it saw and felt. Yes! it was the best meeting place where we could rest in peace., when off those dirty streets.
Her shops like Mangaram's, London Stores and more, were visited by me along with my parents then
Her second hand stall , were what my kids adored in their times, as that was all I could offer them, then.
And yet she stood like a serpent lifting her hood to all who passed her by.
Oh! tell me Why ? OH ! tell me Why she had to Die !!!!?
Never mind , to me she is still alive , Alive!!!!.
I'll never forget those steps I climbed, to wander around when I was as little as nine.
Seven of us at a time , would be taken to see her shine, during the festive seasons.
Many romances were founded around the circular crowds that went around her. veranda
Many a knowledge was founded-from all her old book stall that we hounded.
Thanks to the memories of the Moore Market , I too did stroll and roll all over her fold.
Ma and Pa , had three girls , and we were dressed in our best from all the Moore Market stored for us, from head to toes.
We were called the most popular ladies at all the balls in all the hall, just dressed with what we got from the Moore Market stalls.
Yet! we do remember AND treasure the reason why, we looked and danced the best!!! because it was Good Old Moore Market that helped us from her stores.
I'll bring her back in all her splendour , and put her there to stand upon the COOM.
I'm angry with all those, who led her to her doom.
The most important and oldest ''Land Mark'' our forefathers groomed.
Was shattered down in few seconds.
Yet! she has extended arms , still alive with all her seconds.
Round the bend , near the Zoo, you can still visit her .She will never give up as she has stubborn qualities that was derived from us The Anglo Indians, who are still left to shop around and still keep her company.
|As I gently trod down Memory Lane, and turn the Clock of Life back, I recall with nostalgia -
a beloved red brick building called "MOORE MARKET" - a treasure trove of delightful, childish memories and a shopping mall, all rolled into one.
One can get lost in this kaleidoscope of life and colour, a moving, thronging mass of people in the mainstream of Life. Shops that can hold a pocketful of dreams, and reality mingling together like the colours of the rainbow after the storm.
Books that remain in the recess of one's minds, filling it with a thirst for opening new horizons with a fervour, so eager and tenacious, a yearning to drink from the Tree of Knowledge. The ambition for success and the burning desire to overcome all obstacles that hinder one in Life's Journey.
One is lost in one's world, heedless to the cacophony of sound, but drawn into the world of a variety of dusty books in the corner of Moore Market.
The early morning sun changes soon into a heated ball of fire which blatantly penetrates into the shaded corner of one's mind, but one is unaware of it. One takes comfort in the warmth of the soul, heedless to the heat and lost in the priceless company of the world of Verses, Words and the Imagination.
One savours and inhales the magical world of Byron, Wordsworth, Keats etc. and try to trod in the footprints of the Great Poets. Words that can transport us from the noise and daily grind of life into a world of silence and meditation, as one leafs through the revered pages of the books. Each page which holds a special verse that captures our imagination and transports us into a world of gossamer and stardust.
One is awakened from the stillness of one's faraway thoughts and the reality of life and brought down to earth, when Dusk steps in, and the shops close.
Moore Market no longer exists except in the memory of long, forgotten dreams
|She stood there always with open arms to all who went to ease their woes, their joys and all that went with them, she was always there to please.
Big or small , she remembers them all, who roamed about under her trees,
Her breeze was felt by one and all , who strolled through her halls.
Many an Anglo Indian -did I meet under her arches that were so wide and neat
Her steps were never swept , but to me they were always clean, because she will a Queen.
She catered to all classes, mind you in those days gone by, she had smaller shops indeed on her outer streets. Behind her back we all climbed back to meet and greet our Anglo Indians off the streets.
The inner stalls were meant for the upper class! hence , we the Anglo Indians of our days , also had a class of our own .We were classified according to how much gold we had and what our purse could hold.
The tea stalls were packed with us, as far as I remember right, every hawker knew our might.
Bargained , we did, each and every one of us, sure did!!! Joyous and free , we did demand our rights.
|By Moureen Buckley|
|By Barbara Thyab Ali|