I will never be a good cook.
I think it’s an inborn talent.
I try and i try.
I go by the recipe. I improvise.
It still doesn’t make a difference
The food tastes, at the most, all right.
A is gifted
Mostly his food turns out great
But this morning
The poha was sublime.
Thing is i love the kitchen
I love spices and racks and bottles
I love pressure cookers
And blackened kadais
I think of them as people
The kadai is the old mausi
The pressure cooker is the nepali boy cook
The saucepan is a youngster
The masala ka dabba is the rolling pin’s mother in law
The oil cans are tall friends
The spice bottles are naughty children
They are one big joint family
And i’m hoping one day
They’ll welcome me in to the fold.