The Daily Shopping

Every day, just after the Fajr prayer, Mrs. Rahman would sit by the window sipping her warm cup of tea. She would gaze out over the still street as it gradually came to life. Birds chirped, shop shutters rattled open, and the first light of dawn cast a golden hue over the rooftops. This was her favorite time of the day — peaceful, predictable, and filled with purpose.

By 7 a.m., she was ready. She tied her white cotton scarf, took her jute shopping bag from the nail by the door, and stepped out into the narrow lanes of her neighborhood. This was her daily routine — walking to the local bazaar to buy fresh groceries for the day. She believed in cooking with fresh ingredients and insisted that the food always tasted better when the vegetables were bought that morning.

The path to the market was full of life. She passed by small tea stalls where office-goers were already crowding, sipping tea and munching on singaras. “Apa, cholen?” the rickshaw drivers called to her. but she always smiled and waved them off. Walking was part of the joy. It was her exercise, her meditation, and her way of staying connected to the world.

The open market, a riot of color and noise, stood at the corner of the main road. Stalls overflowed with tomatoes, eggplants, green chilies, and fresh herbs. The scent of coriander and ripe bananas mixed with the sharp tang of raw fish and the earthy smell of potatoes just dug from the ground.

“Apa, fresh ilish! Just discovered this morning! shouted Babul, the fishmonger, waving a silver-scaled hilsa fish toward her.

Mrs. Rahman walked over and examined the fish with a practiced eye. “It’s small,” she said, bargaining in her calm, firm voice. “Last week you gave me a bigger one for less.”

Babul laughed. “That’s because you’re my regular. Today’s catch is from the Padma, very fresh!”

After a little more bargaining, she bought half a kilo and asked him to clean it. While he worked, she moved on to the vegetable stall where Fatema, a young woman in her twenties, was arranging cucumbers and leafy greens.

“Fatema, give me two bunches of spinach. The tender ones,” said Mrs. Rahman.

“Yes, Apa,” Fatema smiled, already knowing her preferences.

That was the beauty of daily shopping — relationships were built over time. The sellers knew her by name, remembered what she liked, even kept items aside for her. And in return, she trusted their choices and shared small bits of her life. Sometimes she brought sweets for their children or medicine if someone was sick.

On her way out of the market, she stopped by the fruit stall. The scent of ripe mangoes was irresistible.

“Five hundred taka per dozen, Apa,” said the fruit seller.

“Too much! You’ll make me poor,” she laughed. “I’ll take six for two hundred.”

After more playful haggling, she walked away with a small bag of mangoes and a wide smile.

By 9 a.m., she was back home. Her bag was heavier, her wallet lighter, but her heart was full. She washed the fish, chopped the vegetables, and started cooking. The smell of mustard oil, garlic, and spices soon filled the house. Her grandchildren would wake up to the aroma of hilsa curry and rice.

As she cooked, she thought of how different things were when she was younger. There were no supermarkets or online shopping apps. Everything was intimate. People knew each other. You bought more than just food; you also bought it with a smile, a story, and sometimes even a blessing or shared worry. That’s why she never let anyone else do her shopping. Her son offered to get groceries on his way home from work. Her daughter-in-law suggested ordering online to save time. But Mrs. Rahman always refused gently. Shopping was more than a task for her — it was a ritual, a moment of freedom, and a connection to a world that still made sense.

The family ate lunch together at noon. The children praised the soft rice, the spicy hilsa, and the sweet mangoes. Her son said, “Amma, only you can make food taste like this.”

She smiled and replied, “Because I know what to buy, where to buy it, and how to cook it with love.”

Later that afternoon, as the house grew quiet and the children returned to school, she sat by the window again with her second cup of tea. The sun was high, and the world was noisier, but inside her heart, there was calm. She had done her shopping, filled her home with good food and good energy, and lived another peaceful, meaningful day.

Tomorrow, she would go again — maybe buy some lentils, a few onions, and whatever the season had to offer. For her, daily shopping was not just about food. It was about life — fresh, flavorful, and full of little joys.