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The puja was a sensory explosion. The priest chanted Sanskrit verses that Kavya didn’t fully understand, but the rhythm made her bones hum. She lit a diya (lamp) of clarified butter, and as the flame danced, she saw her grandfather’s photo smile. Incense coiled like blue serpents to the ceiling. A conch was blown—a deep, primordial sound that seemed to shake dust from the rafters.

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Kavya watched the negotiation unfold. No one raised their voice, but no one yielded ground either. Compromise emerged not from logic, but from love: the puja would be at 3 PM, the cable guy at 4:30, and Kavya’s flight would be missed—"There’s another at 10," Amma declared, ending the debate. "Family comes before flights." The puja was a sensory explosion

. The walls between "stranger" and "family" are thin. You are rarely truly alone, which can be overwhelming, but it also means you are rarely unsupported. The Takeaway Incense coiled like blue serpents to the ceiling