Smita was missing her lover. Her dilrubha was in distant Tamrastoli, out of network range, and her WhatsApp messages were going unanswered, even unread. Lovestruck, heartbroken, bereft, all Smita wanted to do was curl up in bed in the servant-s quarters of the house where she worked. But she had to cook dinner for memsahib before she returned from work.

Her mind far away, she placed the kadai on the gas flame — upside down. Unaware of her bloop, she poured oil on it, followed by a handful of mustard seeds and curry leaves. Everything ran off the wok, spluttering over the fire, but Smita was oblivious, her eyes filled with tears for the love to whom she meant so little.