"Follow me, Madam," Muthu said, leading the way.
"Madam?" Muthu prompted gently.
Divya trailed behind, annoyed by the mud on her heels. She watched women haggling, grandmothers squeezing tomatoes, and vendors teasing customers. It was loud. It was messy. #ammamagankamam
Divya looked at the bustling crowd again. The noise wasn't an assault anymore; it was a pulse. She realized why this place was named 'Amma Magan Kamam'. It wasn't just about the transaction. It was about the relationship. Every vendor seemed to have a story—a legacy passed down. A father teaching a son the art of picking a ripe melon; a mother guiding a daughter in arranging flower garlands. It was a market built not on commerce, but on continuity. "Follow me, Madam," Muthu said, leading the way