A Sunday Like No Other

The early morning buzz begins. The town is waking up, and so is Murugan, rolling out of bed with the ease of a man who has mastered life’s small joys. Before anyone stirs, he’s already at the market, picking the freshest fish, buying chicken, nodding to familiar faces as he moves through the stalls with an efficiency born out of years of routine.

By the time he returns home, Sumathi—his wife, the pillar of discipline and warmth—is already in the kitchen, orchestrating the day’s meal like the experienced supervisor she is at work. Their children, Anu (16) and Varun (14), are sprawled in the living room, watching TV with the kind of laziness reserved for precious Sundays.

But this isn’t a house of idle hands. Everyone has their part. Murugan pulls out his gardening tools, humming a song as he trims the plants, washes the front porch, and checks the roof for loose tiles. Sumathi throws him a glance—half amused, half critical.

Sumathi: “Don’t spend all your energy outside. You still have to lift the gas cylinder later.”

Murugan: (grinning) “Heavy lifting is my specialty.”

The children snicker from the side.

By lunch, the house smells of coriander, curry leaves, and roasted spices. Everyone gathers around the dining table. The plates clatter, hands reach for second servings, laughter punctuates stories.

Anu: “Appa, you should open a restaurant.”

Murugan: “Your amma will be the owner, then! I’ll just cook.”

Sumathi: (mocking sternly) “I don’t want extra work. You take care of your auto.”

Laughter echoes.

Lunch settles in their stomachs, the plates are cleared, and the house hums in post-meal silence. Murugan stretches his arms as he sits cross-legged on the floor, pulling out the small steel box where he keeps his earnings for the week.

Sumathi watches him, wiping her hands on the kitchen towel before sitting opposite him. The children, sensing this was “adult talk,” retreat to the sofa but keep their ears trained on their parents’ conversation.

Murugan unlocks the box and starts counting the worn-out notes, stacking them neatly.

Murugan: “This week was good. 8,350 rupees.”

Sumathi: (nodding) “Hmm… But last week was 9,800. Where did the gap come from?”

Murugan chuckles, knowing he can’t escape her calculations.

Murugan: “Two days it rained heavily, People didn’t go out much. Fewer rides.”

Sumathi sighs but doesn’t complain. She knows his job depends on the weather, and she respects his work.

She pulls out the small notepad where she tracks expenses.

Sumathi: “Loan payment—3,000 gone. House expenses—7,500. Kids’ school fees, mobile bill, grocery shopping, petrol… It will tighten us this month.”

Murugan leans back and rubs his chin.

Murugan: “Can’t push the loan payment. But what about cutting down extra expenses?”

Sumathi thinks for a moment.

Sumathi: “We’ll manage without new clothes this month. And I can adjust the provisions a bit.”

Murugan looks at her with admiration. She always knew how to stretch a rupee, balancing needs and wants without making the family feel the pinch.

Their daughter Anu suddenly chirps in.

Anu: “Amma, what if we don’t eat outside food this month? No biryani from Akshitham Hotel?”

Murugan raises an eyebrow, knowing how much his daughter loved Sunday treats.

Murugan: (grinning) “You sure? Because last week you told me you’d ‘die’ without Akshitham’s biryani.”

Anu: (laughing) “I can live for a month!”

Varun joins in.

Varun: “Appa, maybe instead of movies, we can rent something online and watch at home?”

Murugan and Sumathi look at each other—their kids were learning the meaning of responsibility. It wasn’t about sacrifice but about making smart choices.

Sumathi nods, sealing their agreement.

Sumathi: “Alright. This month, no outside food, fewer outings. We focus on savings and clearing debts faster.”

Murugan taps the steel box lightly.

Murugan: “Done. Practical love, practical life.”

And just like that, their Sunday continued—a day of plans, adjustments, laughter, and unity.

By 5 PM, Sumathi is in the kitchen again, grinding idli batter for the week. The rhythmic stone grinder creates a background sound to the evening lull. She wakes everyone up with tea in hand—no one is allowed to sleep beyond schedule.

Murugan: (stretching) “I was in the middle of a dream.” Sumathi: “Dreams don’t get idli batter ready for the week.”

The children giggle.

Evening comes, and the TV volume lowers. It’s time for cards, the family’s favorite ritual. Sumathi watches carefully, ensuring no one cheats, while Murugan keeps the mood light, teasing the kids about their game strategies.

At dinner, dosa sizzles on the pan, leftover curries find their place, and conversations shift to life’s lessons.

Murugan: (to Anu and Varun) “Do you know why I work hard? It’s for you. Life is good when you love what you do. But life is great when you have people to share it with.”

The children nod, soaking in his words.

By the time bedtime arrives, the house settles into peace. No grand gestures. No dramatic proclamations. Just love—practical, unshakeable, and deeply fulfilling.