Our family’s six-seater dining table, with its sun-mica top glinting in the light, was the cornerstone of my childhood home. While our everyday meals were shared on the kitchen floor, the table stood reserved for grander occasions. It came alive with guests, groaning under the weight of dishes so delicious I swear the flavours linger on my tongue to this day.

Back in the day, I was the unofficial marble-playing champion of my neighbourhood. The best battlefield?

My childhood marble shenanigans landed me in the hot seat more than once. In the fifth grade, we had a new teacher, and I’ll confess, her lectures were as intriguing to me as watching paint dry. With only seven of us in class, while the rest of the school revelled in outdoor play, it appeared very unfair.

One of my first heroes as a child was my grandfather. He was a railway contractor selling cigarettes at the Jalandhar railway station, with a flair that could put any showman to shame. During my summer holidays he used to take me to the station with him. Watching the steady rhythm of trains and his team’s lively hustle was an unforgettable spectacle..