Tushar Mangl Media

The rice had already started sticking slightly at the bottom by the time Ishaan said the bakery near the metro had become impossible after seven in the evening. He placed a paper bag near the stove and opened the fridge without asking. He had been to the apartment enough times for that. The tetra-pack mango juice barely fit between a steel bowl and half a cucumber wrapped in newspaper. “They’ve started acting like they invented puffs,” he said. “One paneer puff is suddenly seventy rupees because they put oregano on top.” I asked if he still bought them anyway. “Obviously.” The puffs were warm enough to fog the inside of the paper bag. He took one out immediately and tore it open over the sink because the flakes kept falling. “You made rice?” “Yeah.” “With what?” “Egg curry.” “That’s enough then.” I cracked another egg into oil while he stood near the dining table reading the back of the juice carton like it contained legal evidence. Outside, somebody downstairs was dragging plastic cha...