Sundays. They were the best. Sundays meant no school, no waking up early to buy bread, and a lavish breakfast made by mom. Not all Sundays featured breakfast made by mom. We (my siblings and I), lived with our grandparents as Dad’s job took him to remote places which did not usually have good schools. But some Sundays, when mom and dad were visiting, were deliciously divine. They would start with the whiff of aromatic Kehwa being brewed.  We would land in the kitchen for a cuppa. And hover around to see what was being cooked for the special breakfast. …