The Uyghur medicine doctor felt my pulse and shook his head. My translator had grim questions from him about my mental and physical health: Do I forget things frequently? Is there a problem in my knees? Stomach aches?
After holding my right hand for about 13 seconds, the doctor said there was “cool wind” in my stomach which was not a good sign. And because I think too much and I might be stressing out my not-too-substantive brain.
But there was little to worry and the cure was inside a jar close at hand, he said.
My eyes instinctively went just outside the door of the medicine shop: dried snakes were hanging and lying in a pile, a porcupine (still alive) was moving slowly – probably towards its death — in a tumbler, a rather large squirrel (also alive) was standing still in a cage and turtles were swimming in a bucket of water.
As it turned out, my reflexes were still working. I left the shop quickly without appearing to run.
Outside, the old market of Urumqi reminded me of the signature markets of Old Delhi and Nizamuddin. It was a mellow September afternoon and after Friday prayers, the mostly Uyghur crowd was out, shopping, eating, chatting, and simply walking around. Young girls, their heads covered were selling fresh pomegranate juice in wine glasses, a variety of naan were on offer in several shops with their neighbours selling barbequed lamb meat and colourful, embroidered clothes – traditionally designed – were on sale all around.
The old market unlike the nearby International Grand Market is more for the locals.
The Grand market with its mosque, restaurants and many, many lanes of shops is where the tourists in Urumqi head too.
One attraction in the market are the knife shops.
Knives are part of the traditional culture of the Uyghurs and the men love to wear them. Most knives are handcrafted, some designs exquisite.
Earlier, tourists from outside Xinjiang could buy knives and fly back with them. Not since the Olympics in Beijing in 2008. Now, shops offer the facility to parcel the knives. Fortunately for most shop owners, business hasn’t slowed down; in certain months, sales can go upward of the 5000 Yuan or over the Rs 50000-mark.
But both the owners and the buyers have to be little careful these days while handling the knives since sporadic anti-state violence across Xinjiang began to break out; everyone mentions the 2009 riots as the turning point.
Few weeks ago, several camera-wielding men appeared from thin air when a tourist bought a knife and posed with it with a bit of flourish. The fear among the locals was that some the camera-carrying men could have been from the police keeping track of what’s happening in the market.
Though part of their culture, young Uyghur men are now discouraged from carrying a knife lest wary security personnel suspect them of being part of some sinister plan.
Despite the government encouraging Han migration into Xinjiang for decades, there are not many cases of inter-community marriages. The few marriages an acquaintance could remember had always lapsed into tense relationships over issues like religion, language and culture.
One late night, two police officers came visiting me at the hotel in Kashgar I was staying. They knew I was an Indian journalist based in Beijing and were very curious – or had been instructed to be curious – about what stories I was planning to do.
I told them the usual about how Kashgar was losing its ancient heritage to frenetic growth. How the priceless heritage of an ancient city was being lost forever. Both nodded their heads. Some of the old buildings could have been saved, they said.
If only the Chinese government had listened to their own officers. Even if they were Uyghurs.