She's got this whole act. The good rice? "Oh I don't really care for it." The better ghee? "Too rich for me, beta." She's decided she dislikes, conveniently, exactly the items that cost more. And she says it so casually you'd almost believe her.
I don't believe her. I've watched her enjoy those exact things when someone else buys them. She likes them fine. What she's actually doing is running the numbers before I even reach the door and quietly adjusting the cart down to what she thinks the household can carry.
So I've started my own quiet operation. When I visit, I restock the pantry — the good rice, the proper ghee, the things she "doesn't like" — and when she notices, I wave it off. "Oh, there was a sale. Practically free." She squints, half-suspicious, then lets it go because the story lets her keep the food without keeping the guilt.
We both know. Neither of us says it. She gets her good ghee, I get to feed my mother without wounding her pride, and "it was on sale" does the heavy lifting for both of us.