Get set- the water pours through the tap
Go- the pressure cooker gives the seeti for the 4th time
The Indian morning begins. The milkman has replaced any likely roosters by ringing the bell at 5.45am. “Ek minute” the mothers say, rising out of bed so quickly, you wonder if they actually were sleeping. Drowsily, she grabs the pathila and stumbles around and over sleeping kids, husbands, in-laws and pets.
The milk is on the stove and waiting for a boil. The chai is made separately as the subjis are cut to put in the pressure cooker. The cooked subjis, which take 4 seetis and will be packed in the tiffins for school or work. Chai is shared by adults who are planning their day.
Children lazily rise out of bed, as if each one of their body parts are waking up separately. They take slow baths until their mothers knock on the door to advocate for waiting siblings. Boots are polished while toast is being buttered and milk is cooling after adding 2 heaping spoonfuls of sugar to the tall glass. The room echoes with “Mumma, where is my…?” is filled in for bags, socks, pencil cases and homework. As the mother quickly steps in to locate the item, not missing a step in the routine, quickly finishes packing everyone’s lunches. She ensures the children look fresh, clothes clean and pressed and Pond’s talcum powder glistening around their chins, looking like slight white shadows around their moon shaped faces.
A comb divides long hair into long ropes of ribbons in the daughter’s hair and the boy’s hair, still slightly wet and slightly oiled, is smartly parted on the right, sending curly waves floating to the left.
Backpacks filled with heavy books and water bottles that have been refilled and tightened twice will accompany the lunch of aloo and puri. Included will be rs. 1 for a snack of chickee at the recess. The mother gathers her belongings and gets ready to walk the children to school. She prepared breakfast and lunch for the father who has just finished the business section of TOI and is ready to step into the bathroom and the stove warmed water for him.
She packs her purse and small umbrella in a plastic bag—an essential item for the monsoon season. The children trot next to the mother as they dodge hawkers, paan walas, chaat walas, coconut and fresh juice vendors, aunties buying subjis for lunch, aggressive pedestrians and uneven sidewalks. When they finally reach the school, the mummys all gather at the gate, their saris perfectly pleated colors in pastels, primaries and geometric shapes. They stand together until each one of those braids and round faces disappear into the building, blessed with the promise of a new morning and touched by the hopes of their mothers.
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