Yesterday I experienced what every middle-class NRI secretly celebrates — a discount on Indian vegetables.
Spinach that didn’t feel like imported luxury.
Coriander that didn’t look like it belonged in a jewellery shop.
For a brief, proud moment I stood there thinking, well done… today the grocery bill lost.
Then my phone buzzed.
A news alert.
Missiles.
Iran.
Explosions.
Words like retaliation and nuclear threat floating across the screen like dark clouds.
And suddenly my little victory over discounted spinach felt… embarrassingly small.
How strange the human mind is.
One moment we celebrate coriander on sale.
The next moment we are wondering if somewhere in the world a button might be pressed that could change everything.
Living abroad makes these moments even heavier.
Because while I was standing safely in that supermarket aisle, my mind travelled instantly back to India — to parents, siblings, in-laws, the people who still live in the centre of my emotional map.
You try to build a life here.
A stable one for your children.
A responsible one for your family.
But sometimes the question sneaks in quietly:
Are we building comfort here… while distance quietly grows there?
And so the evening continued like most modern evenings do.
Children asking what’s for dinner.
The news discussing war.
And me washing those proudly discounted vegetables with a strange mixture of gratitude and guilt.
Maybe this is the real rhythm of our times.
Small joys in our hands.
Heavy headlines in our pockets.
And the constant effort to live normally… in a world that often feels anything but normal.
Perhaps that is today’s little question.
How do we allow ourselves happiness… when the world feels so heavy?