By 7 AM, the house smells like ginger tea and optimism. By 8 AM, it smells like chaos and school bags.
“Beta, turn down the news,” called Bapuji from his armchair, waving a hand at the TV. His son, Rohan, was at the dining table, tie half-done, scrolling through his phone. “Arnab is shouting again. Put on the bhajan channel.”
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