My childhood was divided between the bustling streets of Mumbai and the tranquil serenity of my maternal grandparents’ home in Bejai, Mangalore. Every school vacation was an escape to this haven.
Most days, I would either daydream or quietly observe from the jaali (courtyard) as guests conversed with my Mallapapa (grandfather) on the chavadi (porch), often over bonda (tender coconut) and kadoli parndh (dwarf bananas).
Then came cha (tea) or badaam milk, with biscuit rotti or goli baje. Watching smiles spread as the snacks were passed around, little me understood that food could be a big hug, bringing everyone together.