Opening the fridge I stared at containers of batter and assortments of fruits and veggies that crowded every inch of space in there. For a moment my head spun and I forgot what I had opened the fridge for. Pulling out the dosa batter and the packed lunch boxes from the previous night, I set them on the island and turned my attention to the array of boxes in front of me.
For years, I would tend to favor foods that Saathi and I both enjoyed. The idea of making different dishes to cater to different tastes was anathema to me. I hated the effort that went into it and became rather adept in weeding out disliked ingredients from one pot dishes.
So, this morning as I juggled four different items on all four burners, it struck me how much motherhood has changed me. In the one hour I spend in the kitchen each morning packing lunches and breakfast for all four of us. I do not flinch once at the thought of making tiny portions of different foods for the girls in the hope they will like one of the different kinds. I lather the butter on for their sandwiches, pare it down for Saathi and I.
Food for me serves as a tangible evidence of my love. A physical expression of feeling. It has in some ways epitomised what motherhood means to me. As I call Amma each morning we talk a little about my upcoming visit and the question of what to make for me when I am there is touched upon. Like every other elaborate relationship ritual, the puran polis or the kozhukattais are evidence of her abundant love for me.
As I wrap up my kitchen duties before I rush off to get ready to work, I wonder if someday my girls will associate me with their favorite foods. Then, life would have come a full circle.