We are a Kodava family. When my mother became unwell and could not cook, we tried three different services. None of them had heard of kachampuli. One cook used tamarind instead and served it to my father, who has been eating pandi curry every Sunday for seventy years. He put down his plate and did not speak about it. Suma, who joined us through Rent A Maids 247, is Kodava. She brought her own bottle of kachampuli from home the first day because she did not trust that we would have the right one. My father finished his entire plate. She has been with us seven months and my mother calls her "one of us."

My wife and I take the Metro from Yelachenahalli every morning at 7:20. For two years, breakfast was packaged and dinner was Swiggy. My mother, a Kannada Brahmin from Tumkur, was eating from Swiggy too, which she described as "not real food." Nagaratna joined us four months ago. She arrives at 6 AM. My mother now wakes up when she hears the kitchen sounds and goes to sit nearby and talk. Nagaratna is also from Tumkur. They have the same idea of what saaru should taste like. My mother has started eating properly again. That matters more to me than the logistics, though the logistics are also perfect.

My father is from Dharwad and has type-2 diabetes. The food required for diabetes management is usually made for a generic palate — white rice replaced with oats, which he finds insulting. He wants ragi mudde, not oat porridge. Shashikala, who joined us three months ago, is from Hubli. She asked for his diet chart before the trial. She made jolada rotti, a lentil preparation with almost no oil, and a shenga chutney my father said was the best he had eaten outside Dharwad. His last HbA1c came down significantly. His endocrinologist asked what had changed. We told her: finally, the right food made the right way.