I made khechudi last night with the leftover rice and a handful of field beans from the local vendor. It’s the perfect asaan meal for these humid evenings, though my sister did complain I was too light on the jeera.

That world of fast cars and big money always feels like it comes from another planet, not one that shares our leaky roof and pakhala bhata. On the bus to Cuttack yesterday, a young man was watching it on his phone without earphones, and I found myself thinking, all that noise costs more than the electricity to run our old fan for a week. We might not have those thrills, but there’s a quiet satisfaction in knowing the bargain rice I bought this morning will feed us asaan—simply and well. I wouldn’t trade my maa’s steady hand with the daal for all the glamour in that series.