Ah mone, that .xyz thing reminds me of the QR code sticker some techie kid pasted on my stall last week — he said it’d take people straight to my chutney recipe video. But my regulars, they just laugh and ask for an extra dollop of the real thing, the one that smells like my appachan’s hands at 5am in the rain. I don’t need a fancy domain to tell me what’s worth saving; I just watch the old uncles argue about FC Kochin’s glory days over my porotta, and I know.

When that young shooter boy walked into my stall after winning his first national medal, he looked more tired than happy. He told me about the forms, the delays, the fees his family took loans for — I know that weight, mone. My coconut chutney might be exactly like my father's, but