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At 5:45 AM, the house was still asleep, but the kitchen was already humming with quiet energy. Kavita Sharma, mother of two and the family’s unofficial CEO, had her hands moving on autopilot. Her left hand rotated the idli steamer’s knob, while her right hand ground fresh coconut chutney. The aroma of brewed filter coffee mingled with the smell of wet, fermented batter—a scent that, for her husband Rohan, meant “home” more than anything else.

“Mom, the girls loved the sevvai . Can you pack extra tomorrow?”

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Kavita simultaneously wiped the kitchen counter, yelled at the maid who arrived to wash the dishes, and checked the tiffin boxes one last time. She opened Aarav’s box and added a spoonful of extra ghee. "He is too thin," she muttered, though the doctor said he was perfectly fine.

The evening brought the cycle back. By 8:00 PM, the house was loud again. The TV played a reality dance show at full volume. Rohan was on his laptop in one corner. Anjali was fighting with her grandmother on the phone about why she didn’t want to study engineering. Aarav was doing his homework on the dining table while simultaneously watching a cricket highlight reel on his phone. At 5:45 AM, the house was still asleep,

Upstairs, Rohan stirred. He didn’t brush his teeth first; he went to the small puja room in the corner of the hall. He lit the brass lamp, rang the small bell, and chanted for ten minutes. The tikka (vermilion mark) on the small Ganesha idol was fresh from yesterday.

Kavita smiled and typed her reply: “Okay. Come home early. We have kheer for dessert tonight.” The aroma of brewed filter coffee mingled with

By 7:30 AM, the family assembled at the main door, a chaotic huddle of shoes, bags, and last-minute instructions.