The monsoon rains battered the windows of their modest flat in Mumbai, a relentless downpour that mirrored the storm raging inside Raj's heart. It had been only three weeks since Lakshmi's sudden death from a heart attack, leaving their two-bedroom home in Andheri feeling like a hollow shell. Raj, 45, with his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper beard, and the calloused hands of a factory supervisor, sat on the worn-out sofa, sipping chai laced with rum to dull the ache. His daughter Priya, freshly 18 and home from her first year at college, moved about the kitchen in a simple cotton salwar kameez that clung to her budding figure. She had her mother's almond-shaped eyes, the same silky black hair that fell in waves to her waist, and that soft, caramel skin that glowed under the fluorescent light.