Yesterday, I visited the house I grew up in. My uncle (Mohan uncle) and cousin (Swaroop chettan) had already left for the U.S. for the World Cup, but they left their presence behind in spirit—in the form of a mountain of gifts, food, and a dream cake chocolate tub. As I ate my way through the decadent spread of fish fry, prawn fry, chicken curry, fried rice, pappadam, and payasam, I probably shed an invisible half-tear. I pictured my cousin, his family, and my uncle sitting at the table, eating along with the rest of us.
However, the food was so spectacularly good that I had no time to feel sorry for them—or myself—for missing out on that shared time. Instead, I did exactly what my late grandparents trained me to do since I was four years old: eat like a pig. I truly wished I had two stomachs for breakfast and lunch yesterday.
My cousin, Sowmia, has turned out to be even more loving and suffocatingly hospitable than my late grandmother. She doesn't sit still or sit down to eat with the rest of us until everyone is fed and overfed, and until every last pappadam and puri reaches the table from the kitchen.
Welcome to my home and my family—where the food never ends, and the love is infinite. Yesterday afternoon, when I mentioned feeling lonely without a husband, my mother pointed to the army sitting around me and said, "You have all of us. You will never be alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment