Mornings ask a lot of us before we've had a chance to ask anything of them. So we keep the first ritual small.
A bowl. A spoon of yoghurt, cold from the fridge. A fistful of granola — the nolen gur one, if there's a jar open, because Bengal's winter jaggery makes the whole bowl taste like a slow Sunday even on a Tuesday. A few figs if you have them. A drizzle of something honest.
That's it. No performance, no green smoothie you don't want. Just oats slow-toasted until nutty, seeds, a little sweetness that isn't hiding anything. You eat it standing up or you eat it by a window; both count.
The point of breakfast was never the breakfast. It was the ten minutes before the day starts pulling — ten minutes that feel like a morning off, even when it isn't.
Start the day a little slower. Start it with the granola.