In Chennai, Mrs. Iyer sends her husband to work with a stainless-steel dabba. It contains three compartments: rice, sambar , and poriyal (stir-fry). At lunch, he will not eat alone. He will sit with colleagues—a Muslim, a Christian, and a Jain. They will exchange food. The Christian gives him fish curry , the Jain gives him a thepla , and everyone tastes the Iyer’s tamarind rice. This daily act is a silent, edible peace treaty; a lesson in tolerance that no textbook can teach.
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By mid-morning, the house settled into a different hum. Sunita, a freelance graphic designer, worked from the dining table, her laptop perched near a bowl of drying marigolds. Outside, the neighborhood was a symphony of daily life: the rhythmic clink-clink In Chennai, Mrs