KASHVI'S POV

The faint clinking of steel utensils and the scent of ginger chai were the first things I sensed as I stirred beneath the cotton quilt.

"Kashu," Maa's voice entered like honey. She also entered soon, and that was when I knew I was almost late.

I threw the quilt apart as soon as I heard her anklets.

Her anklets over any alarms.

Before she could scold me any further, I sat up with a gentle yawn, pushing back strands of my hair from my face.

On the wooden nightstand, my diary lay open with a pen resting neatly across the pages. I glanced at it. There were half-written to-do lists, notes for the NGO's upcoming health camp, and a few weird thoughts about life.

"Kashu, the children must be waiting. And look at you, still in bed, still sleepy," Maa scolded and left with a sigh.

I pouted, still wrapped in the quilt. My eyes found the calendar on the right wall.

Monday.

Duh!

I hate Mondays.

I got up, folded my blanket carefully, and opened the window. The breeze that entered wasn't the cleanest, not in Delhi anyway, but it was real. Alive. Full of chaos.

My alarm snoozed five minutes later, and that's when I realised I had almost slept while leaning at the window pane.

Idiot.

After my morning routine, I stepped into the kitchen.

"Aa gayi maharani?" she asked. Her back was toward me as she took something out of the refrigerator.

My eyes shone as I saw some fritters on the plate near the stove.

I picked up one and dashed it into my mouth in one go.

Wrong move. My mouth was too full to speak.

"Ab kuch bolegi?" She asked and turned toward me.
(Will you say something now?)

I blinked innocently and pointed toward my mouth while chewing.

"Kya karu main tera?" she sighed and continued stirring the tea. "Sometimes I wonder how you manage a whole NGO."
(What should I do to you?)

"Magic," I said after gulping down the whole fritter.

"OH? Well, Ms Magician, it's already 8:20. You have to reach by 9:30, and you haven't even packed your bag." She tapped my forehead before picking up the tray and moving out of the kitchen.

"It's already packed, Maa," I assured, following her. "I just need to add my headphones, charger, sunscreen, the craft file, and it's ready."

She stopped and gave me that look.

Yeah, I know this.

Before I get scolded any further, I should go and pack my bag.

By 8:40, I was almost ready to leave.

Then I walked to the living room where Papa was reading the newspaper. His glasses were halfway down his nose as usual while his face was buried in the headlines that probably made his blood pressure rise.

"Good morning, Papa"

"Good morning," he said with a sigh and looking utterly disappointed.

"What happened now?" I asked while sitting on the couch.

"Nothing, just rising prices of fuel." He shook his head and took off his glasses. I handed him his cup while Maa also came and sat with us.

"Papa, it isn't as big as your rising BP," I said. Maa agreed and gave him a quick lecture on how he is ignoring his health amidst work.

"I think I should start jogging, no?" he asked me.

"You have been thinking this for the last ten years," Maa pointed out. "But all you do every morning is read the newspaper and increase your blood pressure."

He opened his mouth, but didn't speak as his excuses fell short.

I grinned. "You can't win against her, Papa."

"I know, it's been decades and she is still ruling. Can't do anything."

"Good that you've accepted it," Maa replied with a glare, sipping her tea.

I just laughed. These are the kind of mornings I live for. The world outside is unpredictable, but this little corner of my house is my comfort zone.

Maa got up after a few minutes. "Finish your tea, Kashu. I've kept a sweet box on the fridge. Take it for the kids."

"More barfi?" I asked, excited.

"Of course," she said. "They love it."

"They love you now. You're spoiling them."

Papa smiled at that. Maa tried to look unimpressed, but the twinkle in her eyes said otherwise.

I grabbed my bag and stood up to leave.

"You'll be back by six?" Maa asked.

"Hopefully."

"Don't forget to call if you're running late," Papa added.

"I always do, don't I?"

"You didn't call on 14 July, 2023, when you were exactly 55 minutes late," Maa pointed out like a detective.

"Maa, please yaar," I whined. "I have apologised a thousand times for that."

"Okay, fine, be careful," she said smiling.

I stepped out into the morning sun. As I glanced at the watch on my wrist, my nerves got alarmed. I quickly slid into the front seat, placed the sweet box on the passenger side, and started the car.

The city had already begun to buzz with its daily chaos. Vehicles rushed past each other, jostling for space. People crossed streets with hurried steps, bags slung over their shoulders, some eating breakfast on the go, some already shouting into their phones.

Amidst all this, I drove while my brows furrowed in focus as I moved through tight lanes and noisy signals.

My hands stayed firm on the wheel, my foot tapping gently against the brake, careful not to honk too much unless necessary.

After crawling through the morning madness, I finally turned onto a quieter street.

It took me around 40 minutes to reach this lane where the hustle of the city faded into the background.

I stopped the car near a building. The iron gate in front of me, with a handmade board hanging above it, stared back as usual days.

The letters on the board were a bit crooked, and the paint had chipped in several places, but it still stood proudly, representing the essence of the world behind it.

It was a small, one-storey building. The walls were painted in bright colours, passing joy and amusement through the echoes inside them.

To someone passing by, it might appear as an old daycare centre. But for me, it's everything.

ISHANI FOUNDATIONS - the words hung proudly.

The moment I stepped out of the car, a burst of laughter greeted me.

"Kashvi Diiiiiiii!"

It was a cheerful chorus, chaotic and full of love.

Before I could take another step, a small stampede of kids ran toward me.

Shoes untied, faces smudged with breakfast crumbs, arms outstretched. They crashed into me like a wave of joy.

I chuckled as their arms wrapped around my legs, some hugging my waist while others simply bounced in place.

"Hey, hey! Let me breathe first."

"You're late, Di," Rohan called out, grinning with mock seriousness.

"I know, I know. The traffic was horrible. And I had a crazy morning," I replied, ruffling his hair.

Anvi tugged my kurta gently. "You brought the colored papers, right? You promised you'd teach us to make the birds today."

"I didn't forget," I said with a smile and pointed toward my bag. "Everything's in here."

She grinned and ran inside to take her seat.

Not every child rushed to me. A few sat quietly near the entrance steps, eyes curious but hesitant. Some are new, still learning how to trust, still unsure whether this place is safe.

There are children left abandoned by their family members, harsh, but some even by their parents.

Then, some never got to see their family, not even once, but roamed freely on the streets and somehow found this place, and felt like home for the first time.

These precious pearls keep the spark alive even on days that don't feel good enough.

Their soft giggles echoed through the room as I stepped in.

If chaos looked like this, I would want it every second.

"Good morning, Kashvi," Meera, our helper, greeted, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Morning, how did breakfast go?"

"Ishu threw another tantrum. She said the upma wasn't soft enough. After that, half the room decided they weren't eating either." She informed me.

God! One could never predict their mood swings.

I stepped into the main hall, which is the heart of the NGO. It isn't fancy, but it is full of life.

The walls were painted in soft pastels. They had hand-drawn posters, crayon doodles, and palm prints in different colours.

The words like 'Kindness Matters' and 'Sharing Is Caring' were written in colourful letters near the entrance.

Low wooden tables filled the centre of the room. Some kids were scribbling in their drawing books while others were cutting paper.

In one corner, toddlers were building towers out of foam blocks, most of which collapsed within seconds, but never stopped them from trying again.

In another corner, a group of older kids read aloud from their textbooks, mouthing the words carefully, helping each other pronounce the tougher ones.

I paused at the doorway for a second and breathed it all in.

This remains my favourite part of the day.

"Alright, back to your spots," I commanded and clapped once to drag everyone's attention.

Some kids groaned in protest, others giggled, but they all moved.

And the day begins...

I moved from table to table, helping a girl glue feathers to a paper peacock, correcting a boy's spelling, and holding up a drawing for everyone to admire.

Then I sat cross-legged on the floor with colourful papers scattered all around me like a happy mess.

A circle of children around me was deeply focused on the serious business of making origami birds, boats, and some creative shapes that didn't exactly resemble anything specific, but in their imaginations, everything had meaning.

"No, baccha, fold it from this side," I said gently, leaning forward to help one of the children whose fingers had creased the paper all wrong.

His paper parrot was squashed a little, its wings more like floppy ears.

"But yours looks so good, Kashvi Di," he said with a small huff, eyebrows scrunched together in mock frustration.

"That's because my parrot doesn't deny eating green vegetables like you," I replied with a playful tap on his nose.

The kids burst into laughter while he pouted.

The next few hours passed in a gentle blur.

After some time, actually a few hours, which didn't feel like too much, it was time to go.

"Okay, last five minutes, everyone," I called out while wrapping up my stuff.

"Nooooo," a few of the kids groaned in protest. If it was possible, they would keep me caged here only.

"See you tomorrow," I assured with a smile.

Waving at the bundle of joy, I walked out.

And that was how another week began.

I hate Mondays, but at least I work with kids, not grown-up kids in disguise as adults.

........................

That was it.

How was it?

Let me know your views in the comments.

Seeya!