There’s something about Sunday evenings that always feels different. The day starts slowly — a little lazier, a little softer — with chai in my hand, Bhairavi attending her music class, and Siddharth still in his pajamas, chasing a tennis ball around the living room. The world outside may be rushing somewhere, but inside our home, time seems to stretch and breathe.
By late afternoon, the calm starts to shift. There’s that familiar Sunday rhythm — a little different lunch cooked by the maid, Siddharth finishing homework reluctantly, and me checking my work calendar for Monday. Bhairavi plans for the week ahead, and inevitably plays some old Hindi classics or some melodious Malayalam songs, and, the sound fills the house with a kind of peace that nothing else can match.
Some Sunday evenings, we step out for a walk — the three of us — watching the sky slowly change colors. Siddharth talks non-stop about school or his favourite Football team - Manchester City, while Bhairavi and I exchange quiet smiles, listening, amused and grateful. It’s a small ritual, but one that anchors us.
I’ve begun to see that these evenings, ordinary as they seem, are the real luxury of life. Not the vacations or grand celebrations, but the slow, familiar rhythm of being together — everyone in their own little space, yet deeply connected.
As the lights dim and the city outside prepares for another week, I often pause and feel thankful. The emails can wait, the plans can wait.
Right now, this — laughter, comfort, and the gentle hum of home — is enough.
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