MISSING YOU, MA

My mother, who was staying with me for the past month, has gone back to her Bangalore home today. I always feel very mopey and maudlin whenever my ma goes away. It feels as if there’s a little girl trapped inside my undeniably grown-up self, howling and crying copiously, making my eyes prickle with tears at the slightest reason.

I feel so BEREFT, like a boat whose moorings have been washed away. Now no more will I come back from work to see ma sitting hunched up at the table in one of her faded gowns, frowning over her daily quota of sudoku. No more can I just demand that she makes my favourite tangra-machher jhol (tangra fish-curry) or other ma-special dishes that I look forward to for the entire year. No more will I feel that urge to gossip desultorily while working in the kitchen together, lapsing into silence now and then, and picking up any skein of gossip from a familiar pattern. No more of that ma-only feeling of tripti (satisfaction) and shanti (peace). TILL HER NEXT VISIT.

As I folded and kept her sarees and towel (she always has a stock of clothes at my place) back in the cupboard, my eyes welled up and I felt so lost.

And then, later on, when I was taking something out of the fridge, I found a china jar full of a tomato-date-tamarind chutney she had made just the way I like to have. Crying and smiling at the same time, licking the chutney from my fingers, I re-discovered what comfort-food is all about.