No Zepto, No Blinkit, No Instamart—Just sanity: My 30-day detox changed everything

It merely started off as an experiment. A friend nonchalantly said, ‘You are not broke, you are merely addicted to convenience.’ That hit harder than expected. I opened my expense tracker and there it was — a trail of daily micro-spends: ₹60 here for milk and bread delivered in 10 minutes, ₹240 for a cab ride that could have been a metro journey, ₹180 for a lazy lunch at home thanks to a cloud kitchen. The numbers added up like silent termites eating into my monthly budget.

So, with a heavy heart, I decided to quit.

No more online grocery deliveries, instant food apps, or on-demand cabs for 30 days. No taps, no clicks — just old-school living.

Week 1: The real world hurts

My first trip to the local market was humbling. It’s not just about picking things up, it is navigating crowds, bargaining for vegetables, carrying bags, sweating in the sun, and remembering to bring your own cloth bag. Since plastic is banned, nobody gives you one for free.

But something curious happened. I spoke to people. The sabziwala told me tomatoes would be cheaper after Thursday’s mandi. The kirana store guy knew exactly which atta I usually ordered online. I wasn’t just consuming, I was connecting.

The physical effort made me value my purchases more. I couldn’t buy five random snacks just because I was bored. I had to want them enough to walk a kilometre in 38°C heat.

Week 2: The mirage of time-saving

I always justified instant apps by saying they saved time. But now that I wasn’t using them, I noticed how I used that “saved” time — scrolling endlessly, bingeing shows, or doom-scrolling Twitter. Not exactly Nobel Prize-winning activities.

Now, my routines slowed down but felt richer. Making a meal from scratch felt like an achievement. Taking the metro forced me to read again. A walk to the store doubled as a podcast session and a breather from screens. The things I thought were time-wasters turned out to be tiny acts of self-care.

Week 3: Breaking the myth of urgency

The apps always push the idea that everything is urgent. Get it in 10 minutes! 20% off if you order right now! But in real life, I found nothing was really that urgent. I started planning better, writing lists, and cooking in batches.

Sure, there were moments I missed the ease. Like when I needed one onion and didn’t have it. But I also discovered I could borrow from a neighbour. (Remember that quaint old idea?) Or improvise the recipe. My food tasted different — less perfect maybe, but more me.

Week 4: The financial wake-up call

I went through my bills again and right away it couldn't be more different. I had saved something like ₹6,000 without switching jobs, getting a raise, or starting a side hustle. All by avoiding convenience purchases. That’s ₹72,000 a year. An international trip, an emergency fund, or six months of SIPs.

But the gain wasn’t just monetary. I felt lighter. More in control. More rooted in my community, my neighbourhood, my routine. The same world I had once tried to escape through an app, now felt more real and satisfying.

Convenience is not cheap, it’s invisible debt

Online delivery apps, on-demand services, and quick-commerce platforms are modern marvels — but they come with hidden costs. Not just financial, but also emotional, physical, and social. They nibble away at our time, resilience, creativity, and even our ability to deal with discomfort.

This experiment wasn’t a rejection of modernity. It was a reset. I still use the apps, but only sparingly. Not for laziness, but for necessity. This means I use the apps not because I can, but because I choose to.

Because convenience, unchecked, is the most expensive addiction we never talk about.