“Arhaan beta, ek aur paratha kha le. Itna bhi mat dar, ek paratha khane se golgappa nahi ban jaayega,” Maa teased, sliding another steaming paratha onto my plate. The rich aroma of ghee filled the kitchen, and on the tava behind her, another one puffed up golden brown.

“Maa, aapke bete ki abhi shaadi bhi nahi hui aur aap mujhe Mota bana rahi ho,” I sulked, poking at the paratha with exaggerated drama. The ghee glistened on its surface, as if the paratha itself was mocking my resistance.