A home isn’t built in a day. Nala and Jabir’s wasn’t either. A piggy bank of hassle and hustle, planning and precaution, many pennies and fewer pounds and two little cubs named Kadir and Kaia, make up theirs.
Jabir is the stay-at-home husband. The domestic engineer.
Nala, the working wife. She sells fruit from a wayside stall in Bombay’s Central Business District.
And while her harvest may be seasonal, the necessity to work is not.
Together, they hold it all together.
They have bills to pay, children to raise, a home to tend to and daily pocket battles to contend with. It’s the quintessential story of the middle class.
When night falls and the kids are fast asleep, they often sit on the verandah to discuss the day – Was business bearing ‘fruit’? Were they sticking to the budget? Could they save a penny now to gain one later?
Perhaps even, revealing how secure they truly feel in a temperamental material world.
Homemaking is the ultimate career. All its vicissitudes find expression through Nala and Jabir’s dialogues in darkness.
