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A Molotov cocktail of misplaced idealism.
A few days ago I came across a picture on Facebook that compared rotis made by wives who had an arranged marriage versus those who had a love marriage. The arranged marriage wife's roti had the desired plumpness and looked quite delicious. It looked like something that comes out of my mom's kitchen. The love marriage roti, on the other hand, looked far from edible; burnt and flat. It was nothing like what most Indian men would expect when they sit down to dinner.