I grew up in a time, in a culture, where old people were revered. Respect for one’s elders was drummed into children: in the kitchen over masala scrambled eggs; on the playground eating curried tinned-fish sandwiches; in friends houses eating sticky sweet rice over maths homework pages.

What did respect look like? Being obedient and doing old people’s bidding; massaging gnarled old feet or pressing down with elbows on creaking shoulders; making endless cups of tea; fetching reading glasses or glasses of water; running errands; carrying messages — often unpleasant ones that roused anger in the receiver...

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