She was instructing me
On how to make a traditional sweet.
As we added oil to the cream-yellow flour
In the black saucepan,
The smell of roasting gently rose
Above the gentle chitchat of customs and traditions.
From labored and heavy strokes of the wooden spatula
The dough became more malleable and light.
For an hour we took turns stirring it till
That color of gold with a hint of copper in it
Appeared and the fragrance filled the air.
Letting the mixture cool
We sat down and she regaled me with stories of food-
Offerings to the gods and snacks for festivals.
After mixing the sugar and the crushed cardamom
Her hands kneaded the little balls of perfection
With deft strokes and a play of both hands
Like dance ‘mudras’*
As I bit into the golden,satin sheen of that globe
Heaven was here and now
In that sweet crunch of melting deliciousness
Here in this mix of
Faith and Patience.
© karaharapriya, 6 years ago