Memories of golden fried laddoos,
Float in my head in panels divided by two,
On one panel, I see ammumma,
An image I instantly want to laminate,
On the other panel, I see her fluffy hands,
Vigorously churning the laddoos in ghee as it lands,
Inside the huge hot cauldron,
The laddoos all assembled for her like an edible squadron,
Inside the piping hot ghee,
All her grandkids looking at it in glee,
Waiting to gobble it up,
Like greedy little pups,
I miss those laddoos,
And the maker of those laddoos.
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