CANVAS OF COURAGE [Ongoing]

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             "HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS, AND MY HEART IS WITH MY FAMILY."

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SANVI'S POV

As the first rays of dawn filter through the curtains, I shuffle under the covers, my hands reaching for the buzzing alarm, its piercing noise tearing the peaceful quietness of the room. I feel the fresh sunlight shimmering; it sheens warmth, kissing my face lightly.

Slowly, I get up and step out of my wrinkled bed, ruffling the locks of my straight hair. I yank open the shades, filling up the room with an awakening glow of splashes of energy.

Wow, how much I love these beautiful and soothing mornings, but I still prefer night because nights have stars, which I love the most, yes, more than painting too.

Suddenly, I'm thrown off my trail of thoughts as I hear my mother calling from downstairs, "UTH JA MERI MAA subha ke 8 baj gaye hain." 8 AM! IS THERE SOMEONE WHO WAKES UP EVEN AT 8 AM?

(Wake up, sleepyhead!!! It's already 8 AM.)

"MAA MAIN UTH GAYI HOON" I shout from my room so maa can hear me, but maa does not reply—so typical of her.

(I have woken up already.)

As I shuffled towards the bathroom, I couldn't help but think about how fortunate I am to have a loving family. You see, I live with my adoptive parents, who have showered me with love and care ever since I was very young. I lost my biological parents when I was just a child. That memory is always with me, a silent ache in my heart. But my adoptive parents have filled my life with so much warmth and joy that I have never felt alone. How I lost my biological parents is a story for another time.

After washing up and doing my morning routine, I shuffle through my wardrobe looking for an outfit that would be best for the sunny day outside. But isn't it best to only wear traditional clothes? I mean look at this gorgeous sari! It practically screams 'wear me, Sanvi, please.'

But I control my inner rebel thoughts, and I extract a pair of jeans, a simple pink kurta, and a pair of jhumkas. I hum in satisfaction.

While getting ready, I play 'Jhumka gira re' on my phone, and the room is enveloped in a warm embrace. The melodies dance through the air, painting invisible strokes of nostalgia and joy. I sing along with the song, "Jhumka gira re, Bareilly ke bazaar mein, mera jhumka haaye jhumka."

After dolling up, I comb my hair and make a braid with my naturally straight hair. I wear my sneakers, playing with the laces before finally knotting them up. I pick up my phone, stop the music, and hurry downstairs.

As I move toward the pooja ghar (prayer room), I feel the cool marble under my bare feet. Entering the pooja ghar, I see my grandmother Seena Desai preparing the silver tray for pooja, adorned with flowers, incense sticks, and a small brass bell—the familiar sight.

The diya is lit, and the sacred flame flickers warmly, casting a divine glow around the room. The air is filled with the fragrance of sandalwood incense, creating a serene atmosphere. My grandmother has nearly completed the preparations for the pooja, her movements graceful and assured.