For a number of years during my childhood, Mrs. Joshi worked as a registered nurse with my physician sister Lali and pricked me with many an injection. She always knew how to make me happy after a needle poke: a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate or a small bag of wafer-thin cayenne-coated potato chips. On a recent visit to Mumbai, I stopped by Mrs. Joshi’s house for breakfast—which turned out to be small chunks of potatoes bathed in a coconut-lime
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