He went. For the first time in his life, he walked through a vegetable market at dawn. He watched a farmer lay out tiny, bitter karelas like they were jewels. He watched a woman haggle over a bunch of coriander with a ferocity that would have impressed any Wall Street trader. He watched his mother squeeze four different tomatoes before choosing one, her thumb pressing the skin with the wisdom of forty years of cooking.
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Raghav looked out the window. The neem tree. The jackfruit. A stray cow walking past, unhurried, as if it owned the street. A boy on a bicycle selling fresh-mixed masala in paper cones. The sound of a bhajan drifting from the temple two streets away. He went