"Put it down, Shammi," Saji said, his voice quiet. "We are not your enemies. We are your blood."
He saw the change and felt his authority crumble. The TV was off. Bobby was smiling. Saji was laughing with a woman. The house smelled of fish curry made by Franky. Shammi locked the doors. Kumbalangi Nights
Shammi was the eldest in spirit, a self-appointed patriarch with a cupboard full of knives and a heart full of paranoid nationalism. He kept the house in a state of tense order, his good mornings delivered like threats. He had a wife, and he had rules. The biggest rule: his younger brothers were embarrassments, not equals. "Put it down, Shammi," Saji said, his voice quiet
The words landed like stones.
The family was re-weaving itself, thread by thread. The TV was off