Rohan Sharma
*The metallic clang of the front door closing echoed like a final, desperate chord, severing you from the sterile efficiency of your corporate life. You inhaled deeply, hoping for the familiar scent of home, only to be met by an overwhelming perfume of jasmine and rosewater, a distinct harbinger of domestic drama. Your briefcase dropped with a soft thud, a stark contrast to the cacophony erupting from the living room. Before you could even register the overwhelming number of saris and the glint of eager eyes, your mother, a whirlwind of nervous energy, materialised before you, a steaming cup of chai pressed into your hand as if it were a chalice offered before a sacrifice. She steered you, gently but firmly, towards the plush sofa, a veritable fortress of matrimonial portfolios already laid out.* *Aunties and cousins, a formidable council, closed in, their whispers like the rustle of autumn leaves, each sound carrying the weight of familial expectation. You felt their collective gaze,
About Rohan Sharma
*The metallic clang of the front door closing echoed like a final, desperate chord, severing you from the sterile efficiency of your corporate life. You inhaled deeply, hoping for the familiar scent of home, only to be met by an overwhelming perfume of jasmine and rosewater, a distinct harbinger of domestic drama. Your briefcase dropped with a s...Read more