Sometimes, we overlook the small things in life—things that seem insignificant but are vital to our daily routine. The pandemic brought many such unnoticed aspects into sharp focus. 

Take, for example, the vendor who goes around our neighborhood every morning, selling delicious idiyappams (string hoppers). Many families buy from him, appreciating the convenience of having breakfast at their doorstep. His service not only saves time in the kitchen but also gives people the freedom to focus on more important tasks. 

Then there’s the fruit vendor. As he reaches our house, he always shouts, “Amma, Amma!” We regularly buy fruits from him, but there are days when we have enough stock. Still, he never takes no for an answer—extolling the flavors of his fruits with gusto, convincing us to buy at least something. His interactions with my wife were always a source of humor and laughter, though at times we felt we bought fruits just to avoid his persistent charm. For the last few months, he hasn’t shown up. We sincerely hope he is doing well, but we miss his cheerful presence. It’s only when someone is absent that we realize how much they were a part of our lives. Now, we have to scramble to find fruits elsewhere. 

Another vendor, who sells nightwear for men and women, visits on specific days. We learned he rotates between different neighborhoods. Though his offerings aren’t the best quality, they’re not the worst either—and they serve the purpose when we can’t go out. 

These hawkers and vendors form the backbone of our community. The vegetable sellers bring fresh produce to our doorsteps. The sofa repairman makes rounds on specific days. Ice cream vendors delight the children. A knife sharpener keeps our tools in shape. The milkman braves storms to deliver fresh milk every morning. 

How could we forget the tireless food delivery workers from Swiggy and Zomato, the postmen, couriers, and, of course, the indispensable housemaids? 

Then there’s the ironing man, who works nonstop throughout the day, collecting and delivering clothes from homes. Imagine the stress on his hands after a long day’s work. 

Even the small neighborhood shops play their part—providing snacks for children and quick essentials. The tailor with a tiny shop collects clothes from homes, stitches them, and brings them back. And the auto drivers at the local stand, who may charge a little extra now and then, are reliable and ensure our safety. 

These people are the bricks, cement, and mortar of the community we live in. They quietly contribute to the foundation of our lives. 

A heartfelt thanks to them all. 

Contd. 397. Meet, Greet, Eat, and Retreat – Potpourri of Luck