On visits to my parents, I look forward to Sunday morn ings. I lie awake, listening to the sounds of home. I hear my mom singing along to Bollywood film songs on Bolly 92.3, the thump of her old metal masala dabba on the counter, the clang of a steel karahi on the stove. It’s not a quiet affair. Once the smell of frying cumin travels up the stairs, it’s time to get out of bed. It’s aloo puri time.
Heena Patel’s first aloo puri memory is from when she was six. Her London-based aunt arrived by boat to their Mumbai family home, unexpected, at 2 a.m.