The cost of convenience: What we lost to 10-minute deliveries

India Today

4 days ago

The year is 2006. I'm a 10-year-old in class 6, living in the middle of one of Delhi's busiest markets, Sarojini Nagar. Back then, it was a full-blown family market, buzzing with everything from clothes and footwear to electronics, furniture and stationery. I would often descend three floors to buy milk, bread, eggs or vegetables.Whenever guests turned up unannounced, Mum would quietly slip me a Rs 50 note to fetch essentials. Like an obedient kid who obviously enjoyed these mini escapes from the four walls of home since there were no phones to stay glued to, I would rush through the busy lanes – without noticing the cool 'Sarojini ke kapde' hanging around the shops and walls - to Santosh Dairy.advertisementEven before I would say a word, the shop owner would guess if I was back again for a litre of Mother Dairy toned milk and 250 grams paneer. Other days, I would go first and say, 'Bhaiya, ek kilo toned,' only to be corrected that milk is measured in litres and not kilos. 'Oh haan, sorry bhaiya,' I'd mumble, grinning sheepishly.
Other errands included fetching tomatoes. The joy of being recognised, of being known! Some evenings, I'd manage to fill the steel pan of the weighing scale with exactly 1 kilo of tomatoes. No adjustments needed - no adding or removing a tomato - once the vendor placed the 1 kg weight on the other side. Oh, what a win that felt like!
These small market runs taught me more than I realised at the time: quick mental maths, conversations with strangers, backup plans when a shop was shut. So much unintentional learning!PS: Even the negotiation skills (though still questionable) came from that free dhaniya-mirchi!Even as we moved through several homes across Delhi-NCR, what made a new place feel like home was the act of discovering a local kiraana store-and slowly becoming a familiar face there. Especially for my mother, who had transitioned from a joint family setup to a nuclear one. Those small market interactions were more than errands for her.Instant delivery services enter the sceneThen came Blinkit, Zepto, Swiggy Instamart - offering 10-minute deliveries and one-click convenience. Slowly and silently, they started replacing these tiny rituals. And while they've made things easier, they've also taken many intangibles.It's 2025. There's no such thing as a 9 to 5 anymore. Work spills into all hours, and even after office, most of us are still answering messages and emails. Who wants to go downstairs just for a tray of eggs? Well, I still do.I enjoy picking up rice paper and fresh veggies after work to make dinner rolls. I'll grab milk, Holi colours, or even Shivratri samagri from the local shop when I can. But my mother? She's fully adapted. Even during Karwa Chauth, she ordered a pre-curated thali—sindoor, bangles, bindi and more—all delivered within minutes. It's efficient, no doubt. But sometimes I wonder: what happened to those small outings with Dad, where they handpicked everything with care?
Her day now begins with comparing prices on Zepto, Blinkit or Instamart. Whichever offers the best deal gets the order. In the evening, if the house help mentions a missing item, she's already reaching for her phone to place an order.Earlier, her grocery runs doubled up as mini walks. They boosted her mood, gave her steps (which the doctor says she needs many), and connected her to the neighbourhood. She'd stop to get a gas stove fixed, browse for a new suit, or snack on some fresh namkeen. Step count goals, anyone?The hidden costs of overdependency on instant deliveryThe sabziwaala would not only help her pick the freshest produce but also proudly inform her when he had brought kathal especially for her. In winter, she'd handpick bunches of sarson saag and get them chopped right there. While at it, she would also bump into an old aunty and talk about things ranging from increased prices of suit stitching, health concerns to any new colony scandal. These small exchanges filled in the quiet spaces of the day. They made sure loneliness didn't.
advertisementBut it's not just her. Many of us are drifting in this direction - leaning more on apps, less on people. Our growing reliance on instant delivery is shrinking those everyday moments of interaction. The ones that quietly stitched our lives together.That's not the only cost. There's the financial one too. When you're too tired or too busy to plan your groceries, you end up ordering in pieces - adding things you didn't need just to hit the free-delivery minimum. Or paying more for one forgotten item. Whatever happened to monthly planning!Then there's the emotional trade-off - instant gratification. It's so easy to cave in to a late-night craving and order a bowl of ramen after watching a Reel. Before you've even thought about whether you really need it, it's already on its way. That quick dopamine hit doesn't last long.advertisementOf course, these apps are a blessing on tough days. When you're sick or short on time, they can be a lifeline. For people in under-served areas, they offer genuine access. This isn't about demonising convenience.But maybe, next time you feel like swiping through a grocery app, head to a local shop instead. You might return with more than just groceries. A smile, a chat, a sense of connection and perhaps a small win with the weighing scale.Sometimes, the cost of convenience isn't what you pay. It's what you miss.- EndsMust Watch