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The House on Rose Petal Lane

Sunday lunches were not casual affairs in the Sharma household. They were events. Performances. Auditions, really — where you were silently judged on everything from how you folded the rotis to how you responded to casual provocations disguised as innocent questions.

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Aarav, the three-year-old terror, immediately wriggled free from Pooja's arms and ran toward the glass showcase. The House on Rose Petal Lane Sunday lunches

"Ayeee, mera Vikram!" Kamla said, rushing to the door with a level of enthusiasm she had never once directed at Shalini in four years. "Come, come. How are you? You look thin. Are you eating properly?" the three-year-old terror