Of Sugar and Stories
Though it now feels like a previous century, not so long ago there was a time when running out of sugar was not a problem. It was an event. We did not sigh, unlock our phone, and summon a silent delivery rider like a minor deity of logistics. You grabbed a steel bowl, shouted toward the home in general, “I will just go to Seema Khuri’s home for a while,” and stepped into a living, breathing ecosystem called the neighbourhood, the “para”, where familiar faces coloured our lives with vibrant hues. Borrowing sugar was not just about sugar. It was diplomacy. You did not simply knock; you announced your presence with a rhythmic knock that was half confident, half apologetic. The door would open a crack, then fully, and there she was, Seema Khuri, already smiling because she knew. Of course she knew! This wasn’t your first sugar crisis. “I just need a few spoonfuls of sugar Khuri,” you would say, holding out the bowl. “A few spoonfuls?” she would laugh, disappearing into the kitc...
