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Rekha, the mother, is already ten steps ahead. Her hands move on autopilot: spreading turmeric on a wound her son got yesterday, packing a lunchbox with parathas shaped like a triangle (because “square ones are boring, Mumma”), and simultaneously yelling into her phone, “No, the bhindi vendor cheats me, I’m taking the auto to the sabzi mandi today.”

Anjali, half-asleep, whispers, “Mumma, tomorrow make aloo paratha . The heart-shaped ones.” Rekha, the mother, is already ten steps ahead

“That’s why I’m qualified to design games, Papa. Logic.” and simultaneously yelling into her phone

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. the bhindi vendor cheats me