AUTHOR'S POV :

The first blush of dawn had barely painted the eastern sky, a soft, ethereal grey that promised the arrival of a new day. Yet, for Dadiji, the world had been awake for a good hour already. At precisely four o'clock, with a quiet efficiency born of decades of village life, she rose from her bed. The city might have cultivated a culture of late risers, but in the heart of rural India, where life moved to the rhythm of the sun, early rising was as natural as breathing.