You never just “take” the bowl. Priya had to bring out her own bowl of murukku (savory snack) to send back. This exchange, sweet for savory , is the social currency of the Indian apartment building.

The doorbell rang. It was the doodhwala (milkman). Then the kabadiwala (ragpicker) shouted his signature cry from the street below. The newspaper landed with a thwack. The house was porous to the world.

Rajiv Sharma, a bank manager, was already in the bathroom, reciting a Sanskrit sloka while simultaneously checking the cricket scores on his phone. His wife, Priya, was the conductor of this orchestra. With one hand, she flipped a dosa on a cast-iron tawa. With the other, she tied a string of fresh malli (jasmine) into her hair.

Inside Flat 3C, the Sharma household was a gentle chaos.