“Maa, send the corn chicken recipe.”

It was a way of indirectly letting mom know I was missing her. That, this lonely, hug-less being needed her embrace and presence more than ever.

I am not a terrible Cook, but it’s not my first choice or love when it’s time to step in the kitchen. If I ever earn that extra buck, I wouldn’t flinch before hiring a cook. I would happily clean the house!

The Watsapp list where you see names, I saw, Maa typing…  

I opened her chat and sat there waiting for her fingers to work Magic; like they always did when I was young. 

This time transported me elsewhere though. I stared at the screen. 

It started reading….

• Place boneless self in situation, 
• Pour time, add some eye rolls, a handful of tantrums and slaps,  2 tbsp of criticism. A dash of encouragement. 
• Let it boil. 
• Poke self with a knife,  check for character and behavioral tenderness. Set aside.
• Remove frozen memories from the freezer, add fresh moments. Rinse under flowing time. Grind them together to form a smooth paste. Set aside.
• Take  a separate circumstance,
• Pour elements of frustration, a tinge of anger, and salt, definitely salt. That’s mandatory. Stir.
• Add your flavorful self to this concoction, saute until all elements combine and shape you. 
• Pour in memory paste.
• Cover the circumstance with a lid of hope, let it simmer.
• 15 mins later, check on your situation, use the magic liquid where your boneless self brewed to adjust the temperament of your dish.

Maa is typing…..

Ting! 

I followed her recipe.

My family and I sat to eat. Some found it bland, some lacking Salt.

But, for me, for me,

Every bite was perfect.

It was what I made.

It was what mom had made.

It was me.

The plates and pans were clean. The food was in their tummy. 

Tomorrow will be another meal. 

I’ll miss you again mom. I’ll cook another version of me!