Going to sleep is a theatrical production.

First, there is the fight about the air conditioner timer. (Papa is cold, Bhai is hot). Second, there is the "light checking." You will hear your mother say, "Kitna bijli ka bill aaega?" (How high will the electricity bill be?) as she turns off every light and fan in rooms that are empty. Finally, just as you shut your eyes, your dad will open your door to ask, "Beta, did you lock the main gate?"

And then, the best part. You hear the soft footsteps. It’s your mother, coming to check if you are covered with a blanket, even though it’s 30 degrees Celsius outside.

As the sun sets, the chaos shifts gears. The family gathers in the living room. The TV is tuned to a daily soap where the villain is somehow always a long-lost twin. The doorbell rings constantly.

"Who is it?" "Neighbor aunty. Just wanted to borrow some haldi." (She will stay for two hours).

This is the time for "updates." Who got married? Whose son moved to Canada? Did you see the price of tomatoes? This gossip isn’t malice; it’s currency. It’s how we bond. The chai is refilled three times, the bhujia (snacks) runs out, and suddenly dinner is cancelled because everyone is too full from the snacks.

Every Indian family has a rhythm. It is loud, punctuated by the pressure cooker whistle, the honking of the morning school bus, and the distant chant of temple bells.

An Indian family lifestyle is defined by its calendar. There is no "just another Monday." There is always a festival around the corner.