By 5:30 AM, the eldest woman of the house, Dadi (grandmother), has already bathed and lit the diya (lamp). Her morning is sacred—a series of pranayama (breathing exercises) and chanting that segments the spiritual from the secular. In the kitchen, she grinds spices for the day’s sabzi (vegetables). The smell of cumin seeds crackling in ghee is the unofficial alarm clock for the rest of the family.
It is the sound of a pressure cooker whistling in the background of a business call. It is the grandmother’s desi ghee remedy for a cough instead of a visit to the doctor. It is the father borrowing money from his son’s piggy bank because he forgot his wallet. It is three generations fighting over the TV remote, finally settling on a 90s Bollywood movie that everyone has seen a hundred times, yet everyone cries at the same scene. By 5:30 AM, the eldest woman of the