The sun beat down on the chaotic lanes of Chandni Chowk in Delhi, where the air was thick with the scent of spices, fried street food, and the relentless haggling of shoppers. Priya, a sharp-tongued 28-year-old housewife from the suburbs, navigated the bustling market with a determined stride. She was dressed in a simple red salwar kameez that hugged her curves a bit too snugly after a few years of marriage, her dupatta draped loosely over her shoulders. Priya loved the thrill of bargaining; it was her way of feeling powerful in a world that often made her feel small. Today, she was on a mission to stock up on groceries and spices at rock-bottom prices from the cluster of kirana shops lining the narrow alley.

She stopped at Ramesh's shop first, a cramped store overflowing with sacks of rice, lentils, and colorful packets of masalas. Ramesh, a burly man in his forties with a thick mustache and sweat-stained shirt, eyed her as she picked up a bag of basmati rice.