The father and his son worked in a greengrocer's shop

Parent and child working at a grocery store

In a small corner of the market, I came across a modest vegetable stall. A simple wooden table held onions, gourds, carrots, and green beans, while behind it, a father and son sat quietly, keeping watch over their little shop.

It seemed that on this particular day, the father and son had been entrusted with running the stall. The father, with his phone pressed to his ear, spoke in a calm, measured tone. He didn’t seem rushed, but his expression carried the quiet seriousness of daily life—a look that spoke of routine, responsibility, and livelihood.

His son, however, had noticed me.

His curious eyes locked onto my camera, studying me with an undeniable sense of wonder. There was something pure about his gaze—a childlike curiosity, a fascination with the unfamiliar, a quiet yearning for a world beyond what he knew.

I turned my attention back to the vegetables spread across the table.

Something had caught my attention in every market I had visited—there were no leafy greens. No cabbage, no spinach, no lettuce—vegetables that are staples in Japan but seemed noticeably absent here in Mumbai’s local markets.

Was it due to the climate? Or simply a difference in food culture?

As I pondered the reason, I looked back at the boy.

Perhaps, in his wide-eyed curiosity, there was something familiar—a reflection of my own fascination with this foreign yet captivating place.

For a brief moment, we were two travelers—both drawn to the unknown, both searching for something just beyond our reach.

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