Meera checked her Fitbit. 10:14 AM. If she wrapped this up in twenty minutes, she could reach the grocery store by 11:00, meal-prep by 1:00, and clear forty-two “Urgent” emails by 3:00. She sat on the edge of her mother’s sofa in Mayur Vihar. The floral sheet smelled of camphor and old age. “Meera, beta, did you hear what Mrs. Gupta said?” her mother asked. Sixty-eight, shrinking slowly into her sarees, tea cup trembling—not Parkinson’s, just the nervous effort of holding her daughter’s attention. “Hm,” Meera replied. Her thumbs flew over the phone: arranging her son’s football pickup, Slack-messaging a junior about a missing spreadsheet. “Her son took her to Haridwar,” her mother continued, hopeful. “A hotel with a river view. The aarti was very beautiful.” The subtext was simple: I am lonely. Take me somewhere. But Meera didn’t hear a plea. She heard another item being added to her list. Take Mom to Haridwar. Time: 2 days. Logistics: high. Enjoyment: zero. “That’s nice, Ma,” Meera said, clipped. “But I can’t take leave. Q3 targets are insane.”