There is a curious alchemy to markets. They are places where transactions occur, but more than that, they are places where lives intersect. Stand in the middle of a bustling bazaar in Lahore, Delhi, or Dhaka, and you will find that the rhythm is the same-the bargaining, the haggling, the occasional raised voice followed by an exasperated smile. A market, anywhere in South Asia, is a theatre of human connection. But markets are not just about commerce; they are reflections of governance, policy, and, to some extent, the values a society places on equity and access. Among the South Asian nations, each has its own model for public markets, and each tells a different story. If you want to understand how a country looks after its citizens, take a walk through its markets. Take Pakistan’s Model Bazaars, for instance. These government-backed markets, introduced in 2011, are designed to shield people from the unpredictability of inflation and market manipulation. Prices here are stabilised, vendors are given subsidised stalls, and sanitation is regulated-a sharp contrast to the often chaotic street markets where prices fluctuate with the moods of traders. It is a controlled environment, meant to ensure that the necessities of life remain accessible to the common citizen. Across the border, India’s Rythu Bazaars tell a different tale. Introduced in the late 1990s in Andhra Pradesh and Telangana, these are farmers’ markets in the truest sense. Here, the goal is to cut out the middlemen and give farmers direct access to consumers. It is a noble aim-one that ensures better earnings for those who toil the land and, theoretically, better prices for consumers. But like all well-intentioned policies, it comes with its challenges. Without significant government subsidies, many small-scale farmers struggle with operational costs. The markets are not as widespread as they should be, and sanitation standards vary from place to place. In the end, a market is not just a place to buy and sell. It is a mirror of society Bangladesh’s Krishi Markets operate on a similar principle-removing intermediaries and keeping prices in check with strict government-issued price lists. But these markets cater primarily to agricultural produce, meaning that for everything else-from meat to household goods-consumers must turn elsewhere. The result is a system that, while effective in stabilising food prices, lacks the breadth to be a one-stop solution for daily needs. Sri Lanka, with its Dedicated Economic Centers (DECs), has opted for a more wholesale-driven model. These centralized hubs are strategic in nature, meant to reduce logistics costs and improve efficiency in food distribution. Farmers sell directly to wholesalers and retailers, who then distribute goods to smaller markets. It is a system designed for macroeconomic efficiency, but not necessarily one that caters to the everyday shopper in the same way that a local bazaar does. Nepal’s Farmers’ Markets, meanwhile, have taken an entirely different approach-one focused on sustainability and organic produce. These markets cater to an urban class willing to pay a premium for pesticide-free food. It is a niche model, admirable in its vision, but far from being an inclusive solution for the wider population. So where does that leave us? If you are comparing models, Pakistan’s stands out as the most structured and accessible for the general public. It is not a free-market playground, nor is it a system entirely dictated by state intervention. It walks a fine line-providing stability without suffocating enterprise. The heavy investment by the Punjab government, amounting to billions, is a testament to its sustainability. The bazaars provide not just affordability but also hygiene and infrastructure, making them appealing to both vendors and consumers. But here’s the larger point-beyond the policies, beyond the numbers-public markets in South Asia are more than economic experiments. They are a way to understand our shared history, our common struggles, and, perhaps, our collective future. Markets do not exist in isolation. They are shaped by the hands that govern them, the policies that regulate them, and the people who breathe life into them. A bazaar in Karachi is not much different from a market in Mumbai, and a farmers’ stall in Dhaka is not so unlike one in Colombo. The languages spoken may vary, the spices may be measured differently, but the essence remains unchanged. And that is where the real opportunity lies. Imagine a South Asia where trade flowed freely, where best practices were shared, where the stability of a Pakistani Model Bazaar could be combined with the farmer-first approach of an Indian Rythu Bazaar. Where the logistical efficiencies of Sri Lanka’s DECs could merge with the sustainability vision of Nepal’s Farmers’ Markets. Imagine a South Asia where these markets did not just serve their respective populations, but each other. That is the conversation worth having. Because in the end, a market is not just a place to buy and sell. It is a mirror of society. And if we were to truly look into that mirror, we might just see that the differences we so often speak of are far smaller than the similarities we rarely acknowledge. The writer, a chartered accountant and certified business analyst, is serving as a CEO for Model Bazaars.