Rohan had never seen anything like it.

And in that chaotic, dubbed, imperfect magic, Rohan knows he is home.

Arif tried to stay serious. He tried to compare it to the original. But when the referee – who in the original was just a referee – shouted in pure Haryanvi: “ RED CARD! Nahi, RED TICKET! Nahi, TERI AMMA KI RED CHADDI! ” (RED CARD! No, RED TICKET! No, YOUR MOTHER’S RED UNDERWEAR!) – Arif lost it.

When he finally made the legendary “Heartwarming Palm” dish, the narrator’s voice – the same one who narrated Ramayan on Sunday mornings – said: “ Aur phir, usne woh pakaya. Woh swaad, jo aankhon se aansu nikalwa de. Woh khana, jo ruh ko choo jaaye. ” (And then, he cooked that dish. That taste, that brings tears to the eyes. That food, that touches the soul.)

His father, a gruff but kind man, was soldering a motherboard. But Rohan’s eyes were glued to the small, boxy television in the corner. On screen, a man with a bowl haircut was fighting a dozen axe-wielding thugs using nothing but a squeaky toy hammer and a pair of flip-flops.