Dinner is light—often leftover lunch repurposed into something new (we call it "innovation" ). By 10 PM, the house starts to wind down. Rohan falls asleep on my lap while I tell him a Panchatantra story. Priya finally finishes her homework.
At 10:30, after Mumma and Dadaji have gone to bed, Arjun and I get 15 minutes of quiet. We sit on the kitchen floor (yes, the floor—it’s a desi thing), eating leftover mithai (sweet) from the fridge, talking about bills, dreams, and that funny thing the neighbor said.
Leave your shoes at the door. Bring your appetite. And stay for the chai.
The Dabbawala (tiffin carrier) arrives for Arjun's lunch. The vegetable vendor calls at 2 PM. The milkman comes at 3:30. Life runs on "Indian Stretchable Time"—which means everything happens eventually, just not when you planned.
This is my favorite part of the day. The prodigal family returns. The smell of rain on hot asphalt (if it’s summer) or the fog (if it’s winter) fills the balcony. The kids throw their bags down. Arjun walks in, loosens his tie, and asks the universal Indian question: "Chai hai?" (Is there tea?)