25/07/2026
A few months ago, a friend sent me a video of her dad watering the plants on his new balcony. Nothing dramatic. No big reveal. Just an old man in a vest, watering can in hand, humming something under his breath.
Sheād been saving for that flat for six years.
And when I asked her what she was most excited about ā the flooring, the view, the extra bedroom ā she said none of that. She said she couldnāt wait for her parents to visit on a Sunday and have somewhere to sit that was hers to offer them.
Thatās the thing nobody tells you about buying a home. You spend months comparing carpet area, floor plans, loan tenures, resale value ā all the spreadsheet stuff. And then one ordinary Tuesday evening, years later, youāre standing in your kitchen making chai, and you realize none of that spreadsheet stuff is why youāre happy. Itās the sound of your kidās cartoons from the next room. Itās your motherās voice saying āwah, kitna acha lagaā the first time she walks in.
You werenāt buying square feet the whole time. You were buying every one of those Tuesdays.
Swipe through ā this oneās for anyone currently deep in floor-plan PDFs and forgetting why they started looking in the first place. ā