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One Saturday morning, I joined my mum to the local market for our regular fruit and veg shop. Mum was still looking around when I volunteered to take the shopping back to the car, which was packed into a small rolling cart. It resembled a magical bag – quite a small thing, but it was surprising how much you could load it up. That's what we believed.

With the cart straining under the load of an already full load of supplies, my mum placed a box of sweet melons on top. She cautioned me to be cautious taking it back to the car.

All was proceeding smoothly as I weaved my way through the throngs of people and out of the market. But as I was navigating the chaotically busy main crossing into the market, the trolley got stuck on the traffic island in the middle of the road, and the box of melons fell to the pavement. They went flying, dramatically rolling out towards pedestrians and waiting cars.

As the little walking man switched from go to stop, I was stunned, speechless, trying to figure out how I was going to collect the melons shooting in multiple directions.

Suddenly, a band of several older women sprang to my assistance. Silver-haired, scarves and one with a cane – they appeared as if they had stepped out of the same babushka doll. They weren’t deterred by the cars creeping their way towards us. Completely brave, they just raised their hands to halt the traffic, in both directions. They collected all the melons for me, retrieving a solitary melon, as I repaired the box to hold them.

I expressed gratitude to them and they remained silent, just grinned and waved me goodbye. I never consumed the melons – I was not particularly fond of honeydew melon – but I tell this anecdote frequently because I love it so much.

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