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At 1:00 PM, the house is quiet. Rekha finally sits down with her own lunch—cold, because she served everyone else first. She scrolls through a WhatsApp group called “Sharma Family & Co,” where her mother-in-law in Jaipur has sent 14 photos of a stray cat. She replies: “Very nice, Mummyji. Feed it milk.”

And as the city outside honks its final lullaby, the Sharma family exhales. Because tomorrow, at 6 AM, the symphony will begin again. New chai. Same chaos. Infinite love. At 1:00 PM, the house is quiet

“Beta, life is aggressive. The uniform is just maroon,” Rekha sighs, wrestling a hair ribbon onto Anjali’s head. She replies: “Very nice, Mummyji

Anjali, half-asleep, whispers, “Mumma, tomorrow make aloo paratha . The heart-shaped ones.” New chai

By 7:45 AM, the house transforms. Bags are zipped. Idli-sambar is devoured in three minutes flat. The school van honks impatiently outside. As the kids tumble out, Ajay pauses at the door. He doesn’t say “I love you.” He says, “ Dhyan se .” Carefully.

“Anything for you, gudiya .”

Her husband, Ajay, is performing the sacred morning ritual of finding his glasses. They are, as always, on his head. He sips chai that is too hot, reads a newspaper that is already a day old, and negotiates with the Wi-Fi router by hitting it gently—the Indian engineering fix.