INT. PITTSBURGH INDIAN MARKET – DAY
The store is packed. Spices fill the air. Shelves are lined with basmati rice, lentils, and mango pickle jars.
PRADEEP SRINIVASAN, 46, confident but dramatic, pushes a cart full of snacks and way too many frozen samosas.
His wife, GEETA, 42, follows with a list — and growing annoyance.
GEETA:
“Pradeep, this is not Costco. Why are there six boxes of Parle-G biscuits in the cart?”
PRADEEP:
“Because I saw them on sale. And because childhood trauma tastes like glucose and cardboard!”
Just then, their 15-year-old daughter MEERA walks up with a confused look and a jar of Nutella.
MEERA:
“Wait… why do they sell Nutella at the Indian store?”
GEETA:
“Because even desi kids eat Nutella. Now go find the curry leaves before your father buys the whole freezer aisle.”
PRADEEP (mock offense):
“Excuse me! I am the provider of this household. If I want 17 samosas, I will buy 17 samosas!”
VOICE (O.S.):
“Pradeep?”
He turns. It’s VIKRAM, his old college roommate, now balding and in a suit.
VIKRAM:
“Still doing the weekly Indian grocery run?”
PRADEEP (grinning):
“Still pretending you like kale and quinoa, Vikram?”
They laugh and hug awkwardly. Meera and Geeta exchange a knowing glance.
GEETA (muttering):
“God help us, the uncles are catching up now. We’ll be here for another hour.”
The camera pulls back as the two old friends chat loudly in a mix of English and Tamil, debating which brand of garam masala smells more “authentic.”
