But the real lesson came at 4 p.m., when Kavya accompanied her grandmother to the ghats. Ganga aarti was about to begin. Grandmother, or Dadima , as everyone called her, walked slowly, her spine curved like a question mark. She carried a brass thali (plate) with a camphor lamp, flowers, and a conch shell.
Later that night, as the family ate dinner ( dal-chawal with a squeeze of lime), the television played a cricket match. India was batting. Rajiv shouted at the screen. Meera rolled her eyes. Kavya laughed. The dog, named “Chai” for his brown coat, begged under the table. www desi tashan com
“Help me with the turmeric,” her mother said, not looking up. But the real lesson came at 4 p
Breakfast was poha —flattened rice tempered with mustard seeds, curry leaves, and peanuts. They ate on banana leaves (a biodegradable plate Kavya would later compost in the backyard) while sitting cross-legged on the floor. Meera had read somewhere that eating while sitting on the ground improved digestion. But the real reason was older than science: it kept you humble. No one sits on a throne to eat in India. She carried a brass thali (plate) with a