A children's picture book and a poem for each week
Hello,
Firstly thank you for the emails that some of you wrote about your stories of what feels home. such a bundle of joy. thank you for sharing it with me. I will store them in my precious place forever.
Last week after writing about my mother’s gajar halwa, I was missing it (too much). Every time I saw carrots in the market, I desired it more. So I decided to make it, for the first time ever. So it began with calling home and asking Mom for the recipe. (my usual ‘to do’ when I have to cook something she makes). my mom has a way of telling her recipes which always makes me feel ‘that’s so easy’ (obviously until I do it and realise otherwise). but at least that gets me started (maybe that’s her trick). And in her telling of recipes there are no specific measurements but words that express how much, which involves lots of her know-hows and ‘just add how much you feel like’ as a response to when I ask for specific measurements. (leaving me and sugar with that instruction is so not a good idea) .I watched a few you tube videos of amazing people cooking all kinds of delicious food.
And decided it was time.
To do it.
Oh it was delicious and how. obviously sugar was overflowing. a note for myself for the next time.(which is very soon).
But my mother and the place I grew up in, taught me something important - food is always cooked not just for our own families but for everyone else too. even if it’s little food, you still figure a way to share. So its a must that I had to cook it for loved ones around me. Three dearest friends agreed to be part of tasting the first gajar halwa.
I got smiles, yums, laughters, thumbs ups alongside some trip-down-memory-lane kind of stories about food. Warmth at its best on a wintery night. There is something about food and sharing it with people you love. it's an expression of love that feels very home-ish. It took me a long time to say ‘I love you’ to people I love and to reciprocate to ‘I love you’s’. because I didn’t grow up expressing love in those words, but it was through food we understood that we are loved.
Here’s a book that I have cherished for its premise of sharing food as an expression of collective love. Farida plans a Feast by Maegan Dobson Sippy, Illustrated by Jayesh Sivan. Published by Pratham Books.
Read the book on link below
https://storyweaver.org.in/en/stories/24189-farida-plans-a-feast
and here’s a poem a dear friend shared a few year back in response to our never ending conversation about food and cooking.
Pickling
by Rosemerry
For hours we stand in the kitchen
and slice cucumbers, peel garlic,
prepare the brine. There is joy
in preserving what is wonderful,
in letting the self believe in a future
when we will pull the jar from the shelf
and remember what it was like
this summer day—as if we could also
fit into the jar the laughter, the pink
of the zinnias up to our waist,
the chickadee song and the warm,
warm nights. To be present
does not mean to ignore the future—
but oh, as we prepare, such joy
in singing along to an old favorite song
on the radio, scent of dill in the air,
summer still unfolding in the yard,
in the jars, in our joy.
What’s the expression you love, that tells you, you are loved ?
Bookish Love from a less colder Kathmandu wintery night,
Ravi/Raviraj