“Papa, it’s just a debate show,” Osho mumbled through a mouthful of Kurkure.
"Just two people for lunch," says Mom. Fourteen people show up. No one panics. The men are sent to buy extra veggies. The kids are deployed to steal chairs from the neighbor’s balcony. Within an hour, we are eating lemon rice off paper plates on the floor, laughing about the time Uncle Ramesh fell into the wedding cake in 1987. “Papa, it’s just a debate show,” Osho mumbled