The Little Joy of Grocery Shopping
Most days, my joy is the market. I’m lucky to live on a street that has a big fruit and vegetable market. Just a hundred steps from home, and I’m there, colors everywhere, people talking, the smell of fresh greens and earth. It feels like a small blessing I never take for granted.
Grocery shopping has always been my thing. If I’m bored, I don’t only sit at home scrolling, I take my tote bag and walk to the store. Or I pick my old wire koodai and head to the market. There’s something about the sound of vendors calling out prices, the smell of coriander, the feeling of picking the right vegetables, it makes me happy in a way I can’t explain.
And then there are the dogs. Every market has them. Playful, lazy, living life the way life should be lived, without hurry. They wander between the stalls, ask for scraps with hopeful eyes, or just lie there like they own the street. Every vegetable shop will most likely have a dog sitting nearby, almost like a guard. They may not belong to anyone, but they belong to the place. They give you a strange sense of comfort, like silent companions watching the world go by. It feels familiar, safe. Like the world is stripped down to its simplest form, people, food, and dogs.
I learned how to pick fresh vegetables from my mom. Even today, when I step into the market, the first thing I do is take a big breath of that earthy smell. It smells like rain and childhood and everything good. I start with carrots, my favorite. Crunchy, bright, and perfect for everything, soup, salad, or just as they are. Then come cucumbers and then potatoes. Always potatoes.
But I love other kinds of markets too. Organic pop-up markets, exhibitions that sell homemade pickles, imli mittai wrapped in little plastic paper (I’m glad they’ve now migrated into aluminum foil, and these days you even get imli lollipops), and air-roasted chips and vaththals that remind me of summer holidays. Those places feel warm and friendly, people smiling, letting you taste things, talking about what they make with so much love.
Maybe that’s why I loved trade fairs as a kid. They were like a big family outing. We’d pack puliyodarai and curd rice in steel boxes, fill our water bottles, and head to the fair. I can’t remember what my parents did there, but I remember what I loved, running into the haunted house, then the toy stalls, and of course the big giant wheel, and eating an appalam that was bigger than my face, dripping with oil and sprinkled with molaga podi. I still smile thinking of those days.
That love never left me. Even now, when I travel, the first thing I do is look for a grocery store. Be it 7-Eleven, Family Mart, or Watsons, I walk in like an excited kid. I pick snacks I’ve never seen before, fancy jams in little jars, cereals in bright boxes. And cosmetics too. I always look at the different Vaseline jars in other countries. I don’t even know why, but it makes me happy.
For me, grocery shopping is not just shopping. It’s a small adventure. A little routine that makes life better. Even on trips, before I see anything else, I hit a grocery store, pick up some snacks and local fruits, and stock myself properly. Because I feel like I understand a place when I see what’s on its shelves.
Of course, I’ve also fallen into the trap of quick commerce. On days I feel sick or just lazy, I’ve ordered veggies and snacks at the click of a button. It’s convenient, yes, but it takes away the joy. It takes away the walk, the smells, the banter, the small talk, the dogs. And my husband always reminds me of that. He gently nudges me, “Come, let’s go for a walk, let’s pick up what we need.” And when we do, I realize how much I missed it.
On slow days, when we don’t feel like rushing, we walk to the market together. We watch people talk, bargain, laugh. Sometimes, even argue. We see dogs crossing the road in their carefree way, or dozing in the shade, and we smile, because they make the scene feel complete. Like this is how life should be, simple, full of small joys.
Maybe that’s why I love markets, fairs, and grocery stores so much. They’re full of life. Full of stories. And in their own quiet way, they make me feel at home. They remind me that happiness does not always come from big things, but from the everyday rituals that ground us. In the chaos of life, perhaps the true luxury is this, the ability to pause, to pick a potato, to smile at a dog, and to find contentment in the ordinary.