Thank God! It was a Sunday. I was not under pressure to finish multiple chores before leaving for college. Yet I could not roll in bed and wait for Amma to bring my bed coffee. I sighed with nostalgia, thinking of those carefree days and yawned loudly as I got out of bed.

That was the signal for my grandfather to ask, "Where is my coffee? I've already read the main paper."

"It's coming, Thatha," I replied, "remember it's Sunday."

"Hmm," muttered Thatha. "Your mother has never said that to me even once in the past 25 years. I don't ever remember asking her for something. She has always been exactly on time with my coffee, tiffin and meals," he complained mildly.

"I'm sorry, Thatha. But I am not Amma. You have to accept it gracefully," I said cheerfully.

"Why are you arguing with Thatha so early in the morning?" butted in my father as he walked in from the garden after watering the plants.

"Nothing, Dad. I'm just going into the kitchen to make the coffee," I said.

"What? The coffee is not yet ready? What's the time?" asked my father as he looked at the wall-clock in the sitting room.

"It is 6.30 already," interrupted Thatha.

And before my father too could start singing praises of Amma's super efficiency (though he would never do it to her face) I disappeared into the kitchen. Five minutes later, two voices in unison assaulted my ears. "Isn't the coffee ready yet? What is taking you so long to make the coffee?"

The decoction was taking its own sweet time to drip, forcing me to cheat. I added a couple of spoons of instant coffee to it and quickly mixed two tumblers of coffee and took it to the sitting room.

One sip, just one sip, and the truth was out. Thatha was the first to start the inquisition, "What's wrong with the coffee? Is this some new mixture that you bought after watching some idiotic TV commercial? Didn't you get the usual blend of Peaberry and Plantation? Is this coffee powder not from our usual shop near the Mylapore tank?"

"No, no Appa. I bought the usual powder on Friday evening from our regular shop," my father reassured Thatha.

Sheepishly I confessed, "I forgot to make the decoction last night. And since both of you were impatient I used a bit of instant coffee. But don't worry, the decoction is being filtered. I will give you good coffee in a little while."

With this promise I rushed into the kitchen to set up the pressure cooker. Dad sat at the dining table and gave the menu for the day's lunch, "There are some good drumsticks from the tree in the garden. Bring me the cutting board, colander and knife. I will cut them for you for making sambhar. You can make a dry dish from the cabbage. And when you finish the cooking, I will fry the appalams," he offered magnanimously.

I next went into the puja room to light the lamp. Amma had taught me to do all the other jobs in the house before she left for the States. But she forgot to teach me the important art of drawing kolams.

When I asked her about this process, she was just about to enter the passenger's concourse to the International Airport. She was busy digging into her handbag for the Airport tax, assuring my grandfather that she would ring up as soon as she reached Boston, telling my dad she had her ticket, passport, etc. accessible and promising my brother she would shop for his roller blades. Amidst all these activities she somehow managed to tell me that drawing kolams was an easy job. "Just take a pinch of rice flour and draw two intersecting triangles," she instructed me.

"Which set square do I use from the geometry box?" I asked exposing my utter ignorance.

"Mandu," she snapped. "You take the rice flour between your fingers and draw freehand. Just do as I say and don't forget to light the lamp and draw a fresh kolam every morning in the puja room," she admonished and promptly disappeared into the melee of people dragging their luggage into the check-in area.

You guessed it right. My mother had gone off to the States to attend to my sister's delivery and I was left in charge of the cooking in addition to taking care of my grandfather and my kid brother. My dad was in charge of the shopping, gardening and running the washing machine. My grandfather supervised the maid, milk woman and other sundry people like the vegetable and fruit vendors in addition to chasing away door to door salesmen who appeared from time to time (may their tribe decrease).

After lighting the lamp, I yelled to my younger brother, "Wake up da... Ramki. I have switched off the refrigerator and it's your turn to clean it. By the way, you did not fill the water bottles last night. I have boiled the Corporation water. Better fill up all the bottles and keep them in the fridge."

"Even on Sunday I'm not allowed to rest or relax. Before I can even wake up properly you've got a whole list of chores to do. It's just not fair. Just because I'm the youngest everyone takes advantage of me," grumbled Ramki as he got up.

"Don't forget to make your bed," I reminded him.

"You are a worse tyrant than Amma. At least she lets me off occasionally. What does it matter if the bed is not made one day? I really think Amma has been away too long. Four months! Why did Akka have to have twins? She just won't let Amma come back. Haven't had a decent meal in ages," he moaned as he walked into the bathroom.

With these encouraging compliments about my culinary talents, I went back to the kitchen to complete my cooking. Meanwhile to add to our woes, our house-help, Lakshmi, decided to take the day off. So the job of sweeping and cleaning the vessels also had to be done and it was 3 o'clock when the day's chores were done. After a refreshing afternoon nap, I woke up to the lovely smell of tea being made, thanks to Dad's initiative.

But the relaxation was too brief. The doorbell rang and in walked Gopal, my uncle from Delhi. With his usual bonhomie he greeted everybody, "Hi, I decided to come a day earlier on my tour so that I can spend sometime with you folks. What's for tiffin? I'm starving, the flight was delayed as usual and I just can't stand that awful plastic food which is served on the flight."

So I rushed into the kitchen to rustle up some instant rava idlis, which I served with the morning's sambhar. My efforts were worth it as my uncle was greatly appreciative, and he offered to take us out for dinner. Ramki and I were thrilled as it was time off from the chores.

Alas, our enthusiasm was short-lived as Thatha put on the brakes. "What nonsense! I cannot tolerate that oily food in the restaurants. I will be quite happy to eat the morning's leftovers," he magnanimously conceded.

"But Thatha, I have to do all the clearing up. Please, can I have time off from washing the dishes?" I moaned and pleaded.

"I don't understand this fancy for eating out at the drop of a hat," said Thatha. "In my days at the most we would eat at a relative's place. They serve such rubbish in the hotels with no cleanliness or hygiene."

Thankfully my uncle persuaded his father, "The youngsters want a change. Come on Appa. We can order some pongal and curd rice for you," and he picked up Thatha's walking stick and helped him into the waiting tourist taxi.

We had a nice time at the beach and restaurant and when we returned home in the night, the phone was ringing. Ramki rushed to answer and yelled jubilantly, "It's Amma." All of us made a beeline for the phone and stood in queue to talk to Amma in Boston.

Finally it was my turn and I pleaded, "Amma, please get back soon. I'm fed up of cooking and cleaning."

"How can I leave Akka with the twins to look after all by herself? Just wait for a month and I'll be back as soon as the first dose of immunisation is over," she pleaded. "Just hold the fort for a few weeks more and I'll be back to take over." Sighing with frustration I went to bed.

The next morning, having overslept, I had to face all the chores and Ramki's Monday morning blues. It was a rush getting ready. The lunch was quickly prepared, stored in the hot case, and the table was laid for Appa and Thatha. As we had forgotten to buy bread, Ramki reluctantly agreed to take curd rice with pickle for his school lunch with the warning, "Just this once, okay?"

As I kick-started my two wheeler to drop Ramki at school and go on to college, Thatha frowned and suddenly stopped me at the gate.

"You look awful Venky," he said. "You have a two-day stubble on your face. Have you forgotten to shave this morning?"