Easy Tea Time Cardamom Cake

In my late teens, the only time Ammi (my mother) would ever send me in the kitchen was when she was knee deep busy with wedding preparation of so and so cousin. She would call me, with perhaps four bags in both her hands, breathing heavy with harsh summer sun tingling and irritating her eyes I'll imagine. 'Please soak three handful of rice' she would say.  How much is a handful of rice? Isn't my hand much larger than your petite and slender hands? But there was no room for questions or explanations. She had to step into another store to buy more things.

Rhubarb and Cardamom Cake

The morning rays stream in abundance through her kitchen window where she and her humble three burner stove stands. Her henna colored white hair glitters like gold, the untamed golden sun makes her lines and wrinkles even more visible. She leans forward for her almond shaped marble mortar and pestle, never placed an inch further from its designated place.

She pulls her spice drawer and picks out the glass jar, labelled 'elaichi' in indecipherable Hindi writing, not that she ever reads or requires labeling.  But most treasured spices always got a glass jar and a label. The rest, found their fortune in plastic containers.