Sunday mornings at the Mehta house always started calmly… until they didn’t.
At exactly 9 AM, Aarav bounced onto the couch and declared, “Today the TV belongs to cartoons!”
Dad instantly snatched the remote from the table. “No chance. The cricket match is about to begin.”
His older sister, Rhea, gasped in horror. “Are you serious? My singing competition finale is today!”
Mom walked in carrying cups of tea and sighed the sigh of a woman who already knew disaster was coming. “Can’t everyone just watch one thing at a time like normal people?”
Everybody nodded politely.
That peace lasted about four minutes.
Soon, cushions were flying across the room. Aarav tried wrestling the remote away from Dad. Rhea threatened to change the Wi-Fi password. Even Tommy the dog barked nonstop as if he had strong opinions about television.
Then came the grand finale.
The remote slipped from Dad’s hand, bounced off a pillow, flew through the air like a cricket ball… and dropped straight into Mom’s hot bowl of rasam.
The room went silent.
Mom slowly lifted the soaked remote and gave the family a terrifying smile.
“Excellent,” she said calmly. “Now nobody gets TV.”
Half an hour later, the Mehtas were sitting together on the floor playing dumb charades, laughing at Dad’s horrible acting skills, and eating slightly burnt popcorn Aarav had proudly made.
By nighttime, everyone admitted it had turned into the most fun Sunday they’d had in ages.
Sadly, the remote could not share that happiness.
It retired permanently in the kitchen dustbin.
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and then Add to home screen.