The sweet return to community

Some places sell candy. Some places sell memories.

Recently, I was reminded of that in the most unexpected way. A friend’s mom had just arrived from India and brought with her a simple packet of freshly baked biscuits from a local bakery back home.

I took one bite, and suddenly, I wasn’t here anymore.

I was back in India, in that familiar neighborhood, following the smell of freshly baked cookies drifting from the bakery next door. I could almost see my younger self running toward that aroma, following it before I even knew where it was coming from. There was something about waiting for those cookies to come out fresh, warm, and fragrant, that made them feel like a treasure.

Today, we are fortunate to have almost every variety of cookie imaginable. Walk into Walmart, Meijer, or Kroger, and there are aisles filled with choices. We can buy chocolate chip cookies, butter cookies, biscuits, and treats from around the world whenever we want.

But none of them could recreate that particular cookie. I am glad to recreate that experience in some ways with my girls with a twist of Indian flavor like cumin seeds, tutti phuti.

Not because it was necessarily the best cookie I have ever tasted.

Because it carried a memory.

That first bite brought along an entire era: the neighborhood, the bakery, the anticipation, the familiar smell, the people, and the little girl who used to run toward it.

And perhaps that is what we are really searching for when we return to places like small-town candy stores. We aren’t simply looking for candy. We are looking for the feeling attached to it.

Across America, small candy stores, bakeries, farmers markets, and neighborhood shops are becoming destinations again. People are drawn to the handmade, the familiar, and the nostalgic. Grandparents introduce grandchildren to the candy they loved growing up. Parents discover something that reminds them of their own childhood. Children create memories that may someday become their own nostalgia.

Food has a remarkable way of doing this. It carries stories across generations.

Growing up in Gujarat, community was woven into everyday life. Food was rarely just food. A snack became a conversation. A sweet became a celebration. A cup of chai became an invitation to sit a little longer. And sharing what you had was often more important than how much you had.

Maybe that is why the renewed love for these little places feels so meaningful to me.

In a world where almost everything can be delivered to our doorstep, we are rediscovering the joy of going somewhere.

Of slowing down.

Of smelling something before tasting it.

Of telling someone, “You have to try this.”

Of saying, “This reminds me of home.”

Perhaps the sweetest return to community isn’t really about returning to the past. It is about carrying the sweetness of those memories forward and creating new ones for the next generation.

As we say in Gujarati, “Jivan ni asli mithaas sakar ma nathi, pan sathe bitavela paloma chhe.”

The true sweetness of life isn’t in the sugar, but in the moments we spend together.

And maybe that’s why one little biscuit from India can still take us all the way home.

Pooja Thakkar is working to build cultural connections. You can read her column each week in the pages of The Reporter.