Lunch boxes to packed, it is sight to watch mothers in terrible states walking riding the two wheelers to drop their kids. Some cases more visually presentable fathers do it.
As we ride down the road, this is believe me between 7.15 and 7.45 am various aroma’s waft, some houses have the pressure cookers letting out steam. But there is something so familiar and every day about it. The mumbling kids the yelling mothers, the honking fathers, they herald the new generation.
Then after the Saturday comes Sunday. Suddenly everything changes, gone, are the days of well dressed morning church and mass, now it is a little slow pace, I go to drop my kid it s an hour later, breakfast is more leisurely, as I drive down to drop the morning is restive, the waft of sambhar, the hiss of dosa, casually dressed families ambling into the Udupi restraint for a family breakfast. At the tutorial centre parents dropping of their kids sipping tea at the roadside vendor, there is something totally unique about the morning.
More smiles and definitely more sunny,
When I go to pick her up, instead of the sterile city sounds and smells, there is the wafting aroma of Pulao’s Biriyani, sometimes the strong aroma of Paav Bhaaji. The streets are empty as if to let the aroma stay to remind us of the delicious day we have.
In a couple of months my kids will leave home, probably I will miss this then. my kitchen will probably miss the essence and fragrance. Newer mothers will call out to their kids, and worry about homework.
Guess that’s what life is about.