In Loving
Memory of Haiko Supermarket
Powai,
Mumbai
It all began in 2014, when our family moved from Bandra to Powai. With the last child having flown the nest, there were no more school schedules to anchor us, and Powai with its cleaner air, more space, and promise of quieter living seemed like the right next chapter. Still, I missed Bandra deeply. The street shopping, my trusted beauty parlour, and the familiar chaos were hard to leave behind.
Then I stumbled upon Haiko.
Tucked away
in Powai’s Hiranandani Gardens, Haiko wasn't flashy. Compared to the Big
Bazaars and D’Mart of the world, it almost seemed unassuming. But slowly,
steadily, it won me over. With its cleanly packed vegetables, hard-to-find
international snacks, elegant cosmetic section, and fresh inventory, it became
not just a supermarket, but a space of comfort, familiarity, and joy.
What began as a once-a-month trip turned into weekly pilgrimages. Sometimes, I’d make up shopping lists or pretend I’d forgotten an item just for another visit. My favourite time was late morning on weekdays; the aisles were quiet, the produce was being freshly stocked, and the sample counters generously offered little bites of discovery. I relished talking to the staff, who came to recognize my face and my preferences. Haiko was never just about groceries, it was about the experience.
Family
debates about its prices compared to D’Mart were frequent (D’ Mart was closer
to our house!). But I stood my ground, Haiko was about quality, not quantity.
It became one of my most cherished routines throughout our years in Powai.
Even after we moved again, seeking more greenery, fewer crowds, and a slower pace, I was bribed through monthly visits to Powai. I’d return to my beautician, to Eden, and always, always, to Haiko. It remained my constant. A link to a chapter of life that I wasn’t quite ready to conclude.
Until, one
day, it closed.
On a casual
visit, with no shopping list or plan, I stood dazed in front of shuttered glass
doors. Redevelopment, they said. It felt surreal. The place that had once
echoed with the rustle of shopping bags and polite greetings had gone silent.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of disbelief.
I know change
is inevitable. I’ve embraced many shifts in life with quiet resilience, moving
homes and cities with the grace of an urban gypsy. But this loss felt personal.
Haiko had become a part of my identity.
Rest in
peace, dear Haiko. You were more than just a supermarket. You were a sanctuary.
May you be reborn somewhere near, so I can once again lose myself in your aisles.
