
Ten Morsels
I was a fussy eater as a child. When I was young, my grandmother, a kitchen ninja, would deploy all sorts of methods to try to get me to eat. Ever loving, perhaps too loving on occasion, my grandmother would gently coax me to eat whatever new and delicious food experiment she had recently cooked up. Sometimes I think that’s the explanation to why I largely hated all and any form of food that came out of my kitchen for a while after she passed.
A favourite game of hers, that I was rather surprised exists in most households, was to feed me one morsel of whatever she had made, that stood for a living being — a member of family or sparrow or crow or cat I’d seen in the building compound.
The first morsel was always hers, the second would be the crow’s, the third the sparrow’s (because they’d be hungry at lunch time and who else would feed them?); the fourth would be Daddy’s (my grandfather) and so on… And it would go on until I was done eating. Somehow we’d never run out of people/birds/animals to feed.
I had dinner rather late today and when I do, I tend to spoon a very tiny amount of food on my plate so I don’t feel bloated later on. So as I spooned a little bit of rice onto my plate, I remembered this bit from my childhood.
And though I’m no longer a picky eater, I chose to name my spoonfuls of rice for people today.
The first spoon is for my father whose silences often represent agreement or grudging concession to an opinion he does not agree with (usually mine).
The second is for my mother whose desire to protect the people she loves often stems from her fear of losing them.
The third is for my Aaji, my grandmother who taught me the game. Loving, as only grandmothers can be, entertainer-in-chief for the first five years of my life.
The fourth is for my forever favourite, most affectionate Daddy, whose inventive swearing abilities (something I seem to have inherited) amused me more than his (involuntary) frequent farting abilities amused most people. Yes, not the sanest influence to have around the kids, my grandpappy. I miss him tremendously and think of him every time I hear of Little Bo Peep who lost her sheep. I was his Bo Peep.
The fifth is for Momo, my Divya — friend, family and a piece of my heart. She is comfort; she is home! She is in Bali right now, and I love and miss her very much. If there is one thing I can say about my friendship with her is that it is an embarrassment of riches — of love, of selfless generosity and patience and kindness — really the best kind there is.
The sixth is for Radsie, my Radhika who always opens her home and her heart to me. Hers and mine is an unlikely friendship, nurtured over time like all good friendships.
The seventh is for my fat cat who’s always lurking in the compound, either asleep or eating. If there was a live version of Garfield, she would be it. My little big butt, Luna. ❤
Eight is for the new friends I’ve made. The last year has brought with it, an abundance of good, healthy friendships. Friendships that deserve love and nurturing. Friendships that are surprising. The person I was two years, maybe even a year ago, I’d never think of making so many friends. So here’s to those friendships. ❤
Nine is for the crow who dutifully shows up at the kitchen window at 7 am when my mother is rolling chapatis. My father believes it’s his dearly departed father (Daddy) reincarnated. Said crow doesn’t get anything leftover from the previous evening. Don’t even ask me what that is about.
Ten, as always, is for that dawdler, slow-eater and maker of general fuss — me.
