By 9 a.m., Meera was in her office, leading a team of twelve men in a video call with London. She wore a sharp blue blazer over a hand-block-printed kurta . No one blinked. Halfway through the meeting, her colleague, Rajesh, interrupted her.

“Hurry, Meera. The gods are thirsty, and so is the kitchen,” Amma said, not looking up.

She typed a reply to her mother: “Send the pickle recipe. And yes, I’ll take the job. But I’ll come home for Karva Chauth. Not to fast for a husband. To fast for the women who taught me how to eat the world.”