When the chill of winter sets in, many people turn to their favourite worldwide brands—Moncler for elegant puffers, The North Face for adventure-ready coats. But for those who want to assemble a respectable winter wardrobe without shelling out much, there is the "Bhutia Market" tucked within the deep alleys of Paltan Bazar.
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The Bhutia Market in Guwahati, is not merely a shopping destination—it’s a seasonal lifeline for traders from Bhutan, Nepal, and the Himalayan belt. The market explodes in a blaze of colour and commerce every year as the city begins to feel the first signs of winter, selling anything from heavy woollen coats to handmade shawls in a delicate ballet of custom and commerce. Yet, beneath the surface of this vibrant bazaar lies a story of simmering tensions, relentless struggles, and the quiet erosion of a legacy.
These traders are no ordinary vendors. They are cold-weather migrants who bring the spirit of their mountains to the plains. For them, the market is about preserving a way of life that has been passed down through the generations, rather than just selling winter apparel. The journey to Guwahati is long and difficult, with high shipping costs, red tape at the border, and continual pressure to outperform competitors. Nonetheless, they persist, building their humble booths in a city that has come to rely on them for its winter apparel.
However, winter’s unpredictability has become the new norm, as Guwahati experiences a noticeable warming trend. Temperatures that were previously bone-chilling now hover indecisively, demanding only a woollen scarf, much alone a bulky coat. The signals of change are clear to a Bhutanese merchant who has been travelling here for almost seven years. "Fewer people need thick jackets now," he adds, seeing potential buyers pass by his well organised stand. "We've started to bring lighter products, but it's not the same. The season is brief, and sales are slow."
While the weather plays with their fortunes, the threat of internet retail grows bigger each year. E commerce behemoths, equipped with analytics and discounts, have begun to syphon off younger customers who formerly clogged the market's limited lanes. These platforms provide what the Bhutia Market cannot: convenience, variety, and free delivery. For an urban middle-class family, shopping online is no longer a luxury; it's a habit. For traders, this move is nothing short of a nightmare. "We're fighting ghosts," explains T. Wagnao, a Nepali trader. "How do you compete against something you cannot see? They've snatched our consumers before they even leave their homes."
Compounding these foreign challenges is a more local issue: the market has grown overcrowded. As its fame grew, so did the number of stalls, each one fighting for a slice of the same pie. The result is a cutthroat environment where traders slash prices to unsustainable levels just to stay afloat. What was once a community of camaraderie has turned into a battleground where survival trumps solidarity.
For now, the Bhutia Market stands resilient, balancing on a fine line between tradition and transformation. Every season brings its challenges, but with each sale, there’s a spark of hope that this cherished market will endure. As Guwahati’s winters evolve and shoppers’ habits shift, the opportunity lies not just in survival but in revival—embracing change while staying true to its roots.
(All views and opinions expressed are author’s own)
