Ami and I usually sit in our breakfast room when we’re having an afternoon cup of tea. For her just a splash of milk, “pour it in with just a flick of the wrist, Sham,” Ami cautions me. And for myself, a cardamom popped in, no milk. We share namak paray, finger-thin crackly wafers spiced with cumin as we sip our chai. Ami used to bake buttercup-yellow dense cakes when I was a child, but she’s given up on baking now. But that’s all right, as my Aunty Shelly lives just down the road and I can steal a blueberry-banana bread loaf from her kitchen on most days.