As we pedaled down the winding mud road, the smell of fresh earth and blooming flowers wrapping around us, I spotted a familiar figure standing near the ridge of the field.
"Grandpa!" I called out, waving.
The old man looked up, squinting in the sunlight before a big smile spread across his face. He leaned on his wooden stick and chuckled, "Long time no see, little Nila! How's the new school treating you?"
I braked and climbed off the cycle. Santhosh followed me, curiosity glowing on his face.
"Good morning, Grandpa," I said with a wide smile. "The new school is great—big buildings, lots of students, and so many things to do. But I miss a lot of things too."
"Like what?"
"Home-cooked food. Morning cycling. Walking past your fields. Playing cricket with the neighbors."
He gave a hearty laugh. "Ah, so the hostel life hasn't spoiled you completely yet! What do you miss eating the most? Want to take something fresh home?"
I scanned the green patches around me. Bright banana leaves swayed in the wind, rows of spinach glistened with dew, and the faint clucking of hens echoed from the shed nearby.
"Any recommendations, Grandpa?" I asked, smiling.
"I've got some fresh moringa leaves, a few varieties of spinach, and of course," he winked, "the best eggs from my hens. Obvious choices for homesick kids."
"That sounds perfect," I said. "Let's get some moringa leaves and eggs then. I've really missed them."
"Grandpa," Santhosh piped in. "I need lots of eggs. Like ten!"
Grandpa laughed. "Ten, huh? For that, I'll pack the biggest eggs just for you."
We thanked him and rode a little further around the area, admiring the small vegetable plots and making circles in the mud path before turning back toward Grandpa's shed. By the time we returned, he'd already packed a bundle of fresh moringa leaves, some tomatoes, one bunch of green leaves I didn't recognize, and a small basket of warm eggs, nestled in hay.
"Here you go, little ones. Tell your Amma to cook something nice."
"We will!" I grinned. "Thank you so much, Grandpa!"
We balanced the bags in the cycle baskets, with Santhosh clutching the egg basket like a treasure chest, and rode home slowly.
As we entered our street, Appa was waiting by the gate. He raised his eyebrows when he saw our bulging bags. "Amma!" he called out, laughing. "Come see what your children have brought back from their 'playtime'."
Amma came out, wiping her hands on her saree, and stopped mid-step. "Wait—what? Did you two go to the market instead?"
I chuckled. "No, Amma. These are not ordinary groceries. These are loved and cherished products. Direct from Grandpa's farm!"
Santhosh lifted the egg basket with pride. "Look! We even got the biggest eggs!"
Both Amma and Appa burst out laughing.
Appa shook his head, "I send you both to enjoy fresh air and exercise, and you come back as vegetable vendors!"
I held up the leafy bundle. "You don't need to worry about lunch anymore. Menu's already decided."
Amma placed her hands on her hips, still smiling. "Oh really? Then go on—tell me, what am I cooking today?"
"Simple," I grinned, counting off with my fingers. "Moringa leaf sambar, hot rice, scrambled egg, and that mystery green vegetable—whatever it is."
Santhosh chimed in, "And I want rasam too!"
Amma rolled her eyes playfully. "Yes, sir. Rasam too. Any more royal orders?"
"Nope," I said, plopping into the swing near the verandah. "We'll start thinking about the evening menu after lunch."
Appa chuckled and sat beside me. "So this is what the great student leader of Student Voice does on her weekend—plans meals?"
"Exactly!" I nodded. "That's the real joy of being home. Food and rest—what else do we need?"
Amma shook her head as she carried the produce inside. "Honestly, I should've known this would be a food-centered weekend."
Santhosh had already run into the backyard of our neighbour, probably to feed leftover spinach stems to the cows.
I leaned my head against the swing's armrest and looked around. The breeze ruffled the coconut trees, the birds chirped, and the smell of cooking from a neighbor's kitchen wafted through the air.
This—this was peace. No bells. No roll calls. No rules. Just warmth, love, and the comforting sound of vegetables sizzling in Amma's kitchen.
And maybe—just maybe—I'd sneak into the kitchen to get the first taste.
After breakfast, the house was filled with the aroma of ghee and sambar still lingering in the air, and I had fully embraced my homebody mood. Santhosh and I settled on the sofa with the TV remote becoming a weapon of mild warfare.
"Give me the remote! I want to watch Pogo!" Santhosh said, tugging it from my hand.
"No way! I've been waiting to listen to that new song in Sun Music all morning!" I argued, keeping the remote just out of his reach.
We wrestled a little, laughing and shouting over each other when Appa, reading the paper from his corner chair, looked up and said calmly, "Why don't we go for a movie instead?"
We both froze, turning to him.
"To the theatre?!" Santhosh gasped, stars in his eyes.
I blinked. "Appa, that's tempting… but not today."
"What?" Appa asked, surprised.
I looked at Santhosh, who was already hopping in excitement. "Santhosh, listen. We have only one full day at home, right? And we planned to go shopping today—for my birthday clothes."
He stopped hopping. "Oh yeah…"
"If we go for a movie too, the whole day will go outside. We won't even get time to rest or watch a movie together at home."
Appa nodded thoughtfully. "Hmm, makes sense. So, next time?"
"Definitely!" Santhosh replied before I could.
I turned to him. "When Singam 2 releases, we'll go first day, okay?"
Santhosh's eyes gleamed. "Yessss! Suriya anna style!"
We all laughed, the earlier remote fight forgotten.
"So, what's the plan now?" Appa asked.
"We'll have lunch at home," I said. "Then go shopping. We'll get my birthday clothes, maybe I'll sneak in extra kurti or two if Amma agrees."
Appa raised an eyebrow. "Sneak in?"
"Just saying," I winked.
"After shopping," I continued, "we can buy some snacks and dinner from outside and return home. Then we'll watch a movie here, in the comfort of our pajamas."
Santhosh jumped onto the sofa. "What movie are we watching tonight?"
I grinned. "Ethir Neechal."
"But we've already watched it," he whined.
"Yes, but it's worth watching again. It's funny, has good songs, and Siva Karthikeyan's dialogues are too good. Plus, Amma likes it too."
Santhosh gave it a few seconds of fake drama and then said, "Okay fine. Done."
Appa stretched and folded his newspaper. "All set then. Shopping after lunch. Movie night with takeaway dinner. Sounds like a perfect weekend plan."
"And no complaints from Santhosh about cartoons being turned off," I warned, pointing a finger.
He crossed his arms and huffed, "Fine. But I'm choosing the snacks."
We all laughed again, and just like that, the rest of the day was set. A simple day—no grand plans, just a family outing, some shopping, and a comfort movie night. These were the kind of days I missed the most during hostel life. The ordinary ones that stitched our lives together with warmth and easy laughter.