Member-only story
How a Simple Dish Became a Symbol of Homecoming
From feeding soldiers in battles to becoming a unanimous language of love
It was August. The month when every aspect of nature is teeming with life. From the plants on the roof to the grasses on the deserted factory right in front, wherever my eyes went, all I could see was beautiful grasses. It’s the month when festivals start lining up, and so does the smell of good food and sweets in every kitchen.
I returned home in the first week of August to celebrate Raksha Bandhan (a Hindu festival to celebrate the sibling’s bond). Outside, it had been raining since last night. Inside, everybody was cheerful, my cousins were busy hanging flowers on every door, and mom and aunts preparing dough for the bhatura (fried bread) while the smell of the Chola (chickpea curry) was hypnotizing every soul.
But this story is not about Raksha Bandhan or Chole Bhature, this is a story of my grandma who was sitting near the window wishing for the rain to stop. She was not interested in preparing fried dishes with the younger ladies of the house; only she knew how she had wished to prepare her favourite dish, but it was raining, and she could not light a fire outside.
