CHORE HAT

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 76, Issue 122, 26 May 1933, Page 2

CHORE HAT

A THIEVES’ MARKET AN ODDITY OF CALCUTTA. HUMOUR OF CRIME. Chore Hat is one of the sights of Calcutta. It is not a hat, nor in fact any kind of headgear, but a market, a bad brother to Caledonian Atarket, planted amid stranger sounds and smells than any known to London, but presenting as varied an array of wares for bargain hunters. Tho name describes it exactly. Chore Hat is Hindustani for thieves’ market, writes Sir Percival Phillips in the Daily Mail. No market could be more modest or retiring. Its neighbour, Bow Bazar, makes no secret of its many-sided affairs, but rather flaunts them in the faces of inquisitive strangers as though defying criticism. But Chore Hat prefers to hide in a network of narrow lanes where honest sunlight never penetrates and the fierce light of publicity is discreetly dimmed. Even the entrance to its mysteries has something furtive in its appearance, being a mere slit between two walls unadorned by any place-name or number. Tho indignant matron on the trail of missing spoons might easily overrun it as she searches the facade of the adjoining street for some clue to its hiding place. She has only to stop a passer-by and murmur “Chore Hat?” to be put right. Her informant will smile, signilically and point to the holo in the wall. The who drove me there also smiled the smile of secret knowledge. AA’as 1 in search of lost property? Tf so would 1 describe it? On learning that my mission had no ulterior motive he smiled again, but sadly, as one who had lost a commission, and sot me down at the hole in the wall. A Quiet Time. It was early evening and Chore Hat looked as prim and respectable as a maiden aunt. Just inside tho narrow entrance sat au aged man with knees drawn up on a strip of matting at the sido of a low platform the width of two coffins: his stall. He was enthroned amid plaster statuettes, old gramophone records, empty medicine bottles, and broken clocks. His background was an array of coloured prints showing

Hindu deities in graceful attitudes against a flowering landscape, conversing with each other with every appearance of enjoyment. Surely these could not be loot? Only a lunatic would waste his time stealing such articles. The old stall-keeper and his stock looked like a kind of outer guard .to Choro Hat intended to preserve its camouflage of honesty where on 3 extremity involuntarily touches the main road.

This theory finds confirmation higher up the lane. Hero are other stocks of mixed merchandise that may well harbour the proceeds of informal excursions into private property. That silver teapot, for example. It looks de cidcdly out of place between a motorcar tyre (suspiciously fresh) and a drawing from “La Vie Parisienne.” Th r sleek Bengali follows my inquiring glance and brings it forward for closer inspection. Yes, a teapot of character although battered and sadly in need of polish. A discreet inquiry as to its history evokes the explanation that it was purchased from a distressed AngloIndian who was badly in need of food. Pure philanthropy. Significant Things. The statement is open to argument, but it is better to pass on to the fine camera hanging from the next stall. The price is curiously reasonable, for the lens is a good one. The case has been subjected to such hard usage that the initials of the original owner have been rubbed off. Near this exhibit is an old-fashioned walking-stick with a carved ivory handle propped between a silver cigarette box and a pair of boxing gloves. The combination is appropriate and leads a thoughtful visitor to wonder whore they wero last together before descending to the gloom of Chore Hat. Their neighbours are such incongruous articles as a framed engraving of Napoleon 111 tilted againt a chipped blue vase, an alarm clock with one hand missing, and a violin without strings. Tho vendor, who is reading a Bengali Edgar Wallace romance, watches prospective customers out of tho comer of his eye, but shows no interest in their movements. Tho interlocked lanes of tho market arc a puzzle to the uninitiated, for they lead nowhere, except into each other. A smash-and-grab artist who did not know the l&brynth would have a poor

time trying to get out. Not that they ever try the smash-and-grab manoeuvre in Chore Hat. Imagine the confusion if someone raised the cry, 4 ‘Stop, thief!” and the whole market took to its heels! This suggestion may reflect unfairly on the honesty of Chore Hat. Any dealer accused of ill’.cit traffic in second and third-hand goods would undoubtedly boat his breast and call out that he was being maligned. He might be. Skilful Thieves. One is assured that ex thieves cun be found among the imperturbable stall-keepers as well as in tho stream of foot traffic that swells in volume after nightfall. Innumerable stories aro told of the skill and daring of light-fingered hangers-on. There was the man who came to Chore Hat in search of a missing cigarette-case and retrieved it only to go away without his watch. And tho motorist whose expensive mascot was stolen from the bonnet of his car while he was lunching at his club. His chauffeur found another exactly like it in tho recesses of Chore Hat. Two days later it. too, vanished, and again one was discovered on a humble bargain counter in the lane, identical even to a scratch on one side. Then there was the old experience of the man who went shopping in the thieves’ market. He bought a pair af new shoes ridiculously cheap, saw them wrapped in a cardboard box, and went off with them under his arm, pausing to look at other stalls before he went homo. When ho opened the box h contained only a small stone wrapped in paper. The end had been cut out and the shoes abstracted without his feeling the pressure of thieving hands. Next day ho returned to Chore FTat and the same stall-keeper offered him the same shoes at a slightly lower price.

Such diversions keep the market amused. Chore Hat for all its grave exterior has a keen sense of humour.