Inside, her son-in-law, Vikram, was already making chai — not with a tea bag, but with fresh ginger, cardamom, and loose Assam leaves. “Maa, your adrak chai is ready,” he called out. In many cultures, a son-in-law might keep a distance, but in this middle-class Indian household, he had become the ghar ka beta (son of the house), helping with chores without anyone asking.

Savitri laughed. “See? India fits in your lunchbox.”

Dinner was simple: khichdi (comfort food for the soul), papad , and a spoonful of mango pickle. They ate together on the floor — not because there was no table, but because sitting on the ground aids digestion and teaches equality.

In the heart of Jaipur, in a narrow lane lined with havelis and bougainvillea, lived the Sharmas. Every Wednesday, 68-year-old Savitri Sharma woke before the sun. Not because she had to, but because she loved the quiet peace of Brahma Muhurta — the auspicious pre-dawn hour.