Try as she might, Mrs. Dutta cannot break her old habits. She has moved into her son's family in California from her old Calcutta home. Her husband has been dead for three years, but she still wakes up at 5:00 a.m. as she once did to make the morning tea. Her move was a necessary one — a terrifying bout of pneumonia, which she endured alone at home, left her no choice. Whether it has made her happier is unclear. A letter from Mrs. Basu, her best friend in India, sits unanswered on her bedside table. "Are you happy in America?" she asks.

Mrs. Dutta loves her grandchildren, son, and daughter-in-law, but their behavior perplexes her. Why do the children disrespect their elders so blatantly? Why does Shyamoli, her daughter-in-law, mutter that the Indian food she cooks for the family is too smelly and unhealthy? Washing clothes is another problem. She wants to use a clothesline in the backyard, but Shyamoli refuses, fearing judgment from the neighbors. The washing machine terrifies her, and the proposition that Shyamoli — or, even worse, Sagar, her son — should fold the entire family's clothes is just too much to bear, so she does the work herself. Strict modesty and gender roles are too dear to her.

One day, she rebels, hanging her wet clothes on the fence in their backyard. This proves to be the last straw for Shyamoli, who is told by their neighbors to stop Mrs. Dutta from hanging her clothes over the fence in a highly condescending tone. In a fight with Sagar, Shyamoli blames Mrs. Dutta, despairing that she has taken over their home and changed their way of life. They make up, but the damage is done — Mrs. Dutta overheard them. After dinner, she finally finishes her letter to Mrs. Basu. When she asks, can she move in with her?