Lunch is a sacred ritual. You cannot skip lunch in an Indian home. At 1 PM sharp, Mumma serves a thali : rice, dal, a vegetable sabzi, yogurt, and papad. We watch the noon soap opera (the TV show, not our life—though sometimes it's hard to tell the difference).
We sit as a family. The kids tell us about a fight in the playground. Mumma complains that the maid didn't show up. I show Arjun a meme. Dadaji (grandfather) turns up the volume on the evening news about rising onion prices. www.savita bhabhi.com
Contrary to the myth that Indian housewives only cook, I work from home as a graphic designer. The "office" moves from the desk to the dining table to the sofa. Lunch is a sacred ritual
This is the noise I used to hate when I was a newlywed. Now, I realize silence is loneliness. This noise is love. We watch the noon soap opera (the TV
The Dabbawala (tiffin carrier) arrives for Arjun's lunch. The vegetable vendor calls at 2 PM. The milkman comes at 3:30. Life runs on "Indian Stretchable Time"—which means everything happens eventually, just not when you planned.
The 5:30 AM alarm doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to my mother-in-law, or “Mumma” as I call her. I hear the soft click of her slippers on the marble floor, followed by the distinct sound of a steel pressure cooker whistling its first morning song.
This is my favorite part of the day. The prodigal family returns. The smell of rain on hot asphalt (if it’s summer) or the fog (if it’s winter) fills the balcony. The kids throw their bags down. Arjun walks in, loosens his tie, and asks the universal Indian question: "Chai hai?" (Is there tea?)