India, Oct. 4 -- A t the crack of dawn, when Delhi is still folded in sleep, Sanjay Gupta's fingers are already stained a deep, earthy brown. The 41-year-old tests the first cone of henna on his own hand, the cool paste gliding in a silent rehearsal for the long hours ahead. By 4 am, his wife Anita and daughter Vanshika are moving quietly through their Uttam Nagar home, packing food and essentials. For them, the day before Karwa Chauth is perhaps the longest day of the year. "I prepare around 5 kilos of henna and through the day we keep filling cones," says Sanjay, who then boards an hour-long bus to Hanuman Mandir near Connaught Place - the Capital's go-to spot for mehndi. Sanjay's stall is modest: a plastic chest of drawers to store cones, a tattoo machine, visiting cards; a couple of stools; and a small board with his name and number. Yet, for the next 48 hours, this corner becomes his universe, where art, ritual and survival converge. "I sit here from 7 am and I don't leave for two days," he says, "Until 4 in the morning, I'm still drawing designs. Some women come only to me every year. Then I freshen up quickly nearby and start again at 7." His wife and daughter bring food, help manage the rush, and return at dawn only to rejoin him a few hours later. Even Anita's brother, who works in an MNC in Gurgaon, takes leave to pitch in. "Earlier, my son used to join us too. But he succumbed to a fatal fall three years ago. He was only eighteen," Anita says softly, eyes brimming. Twenty years ago, Sanjay was juggling odd jobs, even counting railway tickets. It was Anita, herself the daughter of a mehndi artist, who urged him to set up a stall and taught him the delicate art of paisleys and vines. "Sab issi ne sikhaya hai mujhe," Sanjay says, pointing to his wife with gratitude. This season is when the family earns enough to sustain themselves. "Isse pehle shradh aur Navdurga mein kuch kamai nahi hoti. Abhi hi hum poora karte hain. Three days of 24-hour work and we make about Rs.25,000," Sanjay explains. By dusk, fatigue shows. The tiffins are empty, cones run out, but the family keeps rolling fresh ones as more women arrive. The rhythm continues until 4am. And then, as dawn breaks once more, Sanjay leans back, breathes deeply and smiles. Another Karwa Chauth has been painted into Delhi's memory, in vines, paisleys, and devotion, by a man whose hands carry both the colour of tradition and the weight of survival....