By 1:00 PM, the father calls home. "What’s for lunch?" He already knows—it’s rajma-chawal (kidney beans and rice) because it’s Wednesday. But he asks anyway. Meanwhile, the children return from school, dumping their tiffin boxes. The mother inspects them. If the box is empty, the child is praised. If there are leftover vegetables, the interrogation begins: "Did you eat this? Or did you feed it to the stray dog again?"
After dinner, at 10 PM, another cup of tea is made. Why? Because the day is finally quiet. The parents watch the 10 PM news, which is mostly shouting matches between anchors. The children scroll through reels. The grandparents have already gone to bed, but not before locking the main gate with three different locks.
Saturday afternoon. The family goes to the mall. Not to buy anything, necessarily, but to walk in the air conditioning. They will eat pani puri at the food court, the father will stare at a mobile phone costing 80,000 rupees and walk away, and the mother will buy a single khadi kurta on a 70% discount. They will return home exhausted, having spent more on parking and petrol than on actual shopping.
