I was sitting on the mat, completing the remaining afternoon prayer, and somewhat feeling uninterested in life. As the dry lips uttered the remembrances of God and the tired finger counted along the phalanges, I vacantly gazed upward at the bewitching vastness of the sky; the shade of the windowsill on my eyes. The scenery of pure white strokes on that azure canvas happened to be oddly therapeutic for my overworked senses. My skywatching was, however, interrupted when I heard the door open. Mama had come to call me for lunch but for the glistening sunlight in winters, sat down behind me, on the bedside. Her seasoned eyes soon noted the masked gloom on my face and she pulled at her 19-ish daughter’s cheeks, laughingly advising her to stay happy; I returned an indifferent half-smile. So, sensing what she sensed and hence skilfully changing…