The art of haggling Entering Mysore's Devaraja Market my nose is immediately set upon by a thuggish bunch of powerful scents. I attempt to ascertain from where each nasal jab originates but cannot separate any from the general olfactory assault; the combined effect is just too much. After taking a standing count of eight my head clears a little and I am finally able to drag some individual scents from out of the madly brawling whole. I smell garlic, jasmine, jaggery, piss, cumin, cow, chilli, incense, shit, lime and sweat. But there is one smell, or rather one collection of smells, that glides majestically through the unruly crowd to pluck at my nose and carry me, like the Bisto Kid to gravy, in the direction of Akram's essential oils stall. Upon showing a vague interest in
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