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This is the unspoken rule of the Indian family drama: The show must go on, even if the curtain is on fire.

From her pillow, Riya hears her mother whisper, “She needs new college shoes.”

Riya yells up the stairs. No response. She yells again. A grunt. Then, the heavy footsteps of Anil Sharma, a man who believes silence is the highest form of communication. He walks past his daughter, mutters "Chai," and settles into his armchair with the newspaper. The headlines scream about politics; his real battle is closer to home. This is the unspoken rule of the Indian

The Sunday alarm at the Sharma household isn't a phone chime. It’s the metallic thwack of a pressure cooker releasing steam, followed by Riya Sharma’s theatrical groan. "Maa, it’s 7 AM! Even the gods are sleeping in."

“The fan in the hall is making noise,” he says. She yells again

By 10 AM, the drama escalates. The cousin from America has announced an unannounced visit next week. Panic ensues.

“Then fix it,” she says.

“I need help holding the ladder.”