Aunty In Bed Today

Every Sunday morning, the house belonged to Aunty Priya.

"Who finished the pickle? I will not name names. But Rohan. It was Rohan." aunty in bed

She took a slow sip of chai, looked at me over her glasses, and smiled. Every Sunday morning, the house belonged to Aunty Priya

Her phone buzzed constantly. The family group chat, "Chaos & Chai," lit up with her morning dispatches: Every Sunday morning

From her bed, Aunty Priya ran the universe. She settled disputes between cousins ("Both of you are wrong. I am right. Now hug."), dispensed career advice ("Quit. No job is worth a 6 a.m. alarm."), and occasionally launched a slipper at the door when her husband tried to change the TV channel.

"Are you ever getting up?" I asked once, as a teenager.