What a Spice Seller in Delhi Taught Me About Menopause
Chandni Chowk is a place that demands your full attention. It’s chaotic and vibrant, a tangle of honking scooters, flower stalls, street food, and narrow lanes packed with competing rickshaws, noisy people and the odd cow. Somewhere between all of that, I stepped into a tiny spice shop.
The air inside was thick with the scent of cardamom, turmeric, mace, dried rose, and tea. Shelves were packed tightly with jars and packets, every surface glowing with colour. One of the men behind the counter, probably in his forties, began offering suggestions as I looked around.
“This is good for joints,” he said, handing me a sachet. “This one, for heat.” Then, without skipping a beat, “This is good for women, when hormones change. Sometimes they feel hot. Focus goes. Confidence drops. This helps with menopause.”
He said it plainly, like it was just another part of life. And then, with a grin, he added, “Men too. We have problems.”
We laughed, but I walked out of that shop feeling quietly stunned. I had just had one of the most open, relaxed conversations about menopause I’d ever experienced. Not in a clinic. Not at a women’s health event. But in a crowded market, in India, from a man I’d never met, offering spice and honesty in equal measure.
What struck me most wasn’t what he said, but how easily he said it. He named it. No discomfort. No awkwardness. Just practical knowledge, shared without hesitation.
In many places, including where I live, menopause still isn’t something we talk about openly. It’s often whispered about, made a joke of or avoided entirely. Even in pharmacies or workplaces, it can feel like a topic we’re meant to manage quietly or handle on our own.
But silence has a cost. I work with women who are intelligent, capable, and experienced, and yet they’re quietly struggling. They’ve seen doctors, tried HRT, worked on their sleep and nutrition, but still feel off. And underneath all of it is a question they often don’t say out loud: “Is this just me?”
It isn’t. But when we don’t talk about it, when there’s no language for what’s shifting, it can feel like we’re the only ones losing our footing.
That day in the spice shop reminded me that support can look different than we expect. Sometimes it’s a coach, a friend, a colleague. Sometimes it’s a man in a market who sees it all the time and doesn’t see any reason to avoid the topic.
It made me think about the kinds of conversations we need more of. Ones that are open, unforced, and quietly generous. The ones that reassure us that we are not alone and that the menopause transition is a natural stage in life that every woman experiences.
If you’re navigating changes and finding it hard to put words to what’s shifting, you’re not alone.
I work with women in midlife who are ready to understand what’s happening beneath the surface—and want space to figure out what’s next, on their own terms.
If that sounds like something you’ve been craving, you’re welcome to reach out. I’d be glad to talk.
