The best part of the day was always the part nobody planned.
In an Indian home, the courtyard does something the rooms can't. After dinner, when the heat has finally broken and the dishes are a problem for later, people drift outside without being asked. Someone brings a mat. Someone lights a dim light. The smell out there is the smell of the day cooling down... warm stone, soft smoke, the earth giving back what the sun put into it.
Aangan captures that hour: the loose, unplanned one between dinner and sleep, when the family ends up together without meaning to.
Vetiver and sandalwood. A drift of patchouli. Wet earth underneath.
