After dinner, the fight for the bathroom begins. Arjun showers for three minutes. Kavya takes twenty. Veena goes last. She lights a small diya (lamp) near the family altar. She whispers a quick prayer not for wealth, but for “everyone to come back home tomorrow.”

Her husband, Rohan, is on the balcony, watering a wilting tulsi plant. “The plant looks sad,” he says. Veena replies without looking up, “You forgot to water it yesterday. Tulsi doesn’t forget.”

This is the Indian family dance: layered, loud, and deeply forgiving.

5:00 PM. The sun turns the city orange. Arjun returns from college, throws his bag on the sofa, and announces he wants to be a gamer. Rohan looks up from his newspaper. “Gamer? Is that a degree from Delhi University?”