Akash Tripathi 1 The salty breeze of the Arabian Sea drifted through Girgaon Chowpatty, curling around sizzling pans and the spicy perfume of crushed coriander and garlic chutney. Tara Joshi stood behind her grandfather’s chaat stall, apron tied around her waist, expertly arranging plates of sev puri with the finesse only years of helping at the stall could teach. The sky had turned a buttery orange, and the usual crowd of couples, college kids, and beach walkers had begun to gather around the row of food carts. Dattatray Joshi—Dada to everyone—stood beside her, his wrinkled hands moving steadily, his voice…