Indian family systems, collectivistic society and psychotherapy - PMC

For a moment, the flat was plunged into darkness and silence. Then, Meena clicked on her mobile phone’s flashlight. The tiny cone of light illuminated her face, making her look like a goddess in a cave.

Dinner is the only time all members are forced to sit together. TV blares—either a mythological serial ( Mahadev ) or a reality show. Phones are (grudgingly) put away. Stories are told. Grievances are aired. The family dissolves into sleep, only to reset tomorrow.

But for one more minute, nobody moved. They stayed there, a small, imperfect, shouting, loving tribe, holding onto the dark. And when they finally went back inside, the kitchen light was still on. Meena saw it. And for the first time that day, she didn’t say a word.

Cooking fresh ginger and cardamom tea starts the daily routine.

The day in the Sharma household began not with an alarm clock, but with the coo-coo of the koel bird outside the kitchen window and the assertive clang of a steel pressure cooker. At 5:45 AM, Meena Sharma, sixty-two years old and the family’s undisputed sovereign, was already rolling out rotis for the day’s dabbas .