“I carried you for nine months” is the nuclear option in any argument. “Eat more, you’re looking like a stick” is a declaration of affection. “What will the neighbors think?” is a moral compass. These phrases, dismissed as toxic by outsiders, are, for insiders, the rough texture of a love that has no manual. It is clumsy, demanding, and fierce.
A typical day in a middle-class Indian household often starts before sunrise.
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