Those afternoons inside a tiffin box

The school bell rang and every aluminium tiffin box opened at once. Inside ours was often a soft slice of fruit cake, wrapped carefully and carrying the unmistakable scent of home. It was never merely a snack. It was an afternoon ritual shared with friends, traded bite by bite, and remembered long after the classroom emptied.

Bengal lives in these ordinary details — in taste, sound, season and the stories people carry from one home to another.