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.

Curried Red Quinoa Peas and Paneer Salad

Our terrace in my hometown in India looks down to acres of empty land. Empty of human occupation that is. To the left was 'the glorious land', there were trees as tall as our house, shrubs and bushes at every inch of the land that had been kept untouched and wild for no one had the time to clear that forest of sorts. 

On the right was the barren land, one that got cleared every few months for weeds and wild grass.   We could look down at these two lands of extreme in its entirety divided by a tall muddy brick wall. During summers, monkeys would often sit on it and trespass into our garden area for treating on the mangoes much to my father's dismay. 

Thandai Peach Galette

We were on the bed, laying in our usual position, heads further away but legs tangled into each others. It was something that bothered him at first - my inability to sleep with my head dug into his arms. It is so theatrical, one can't really breathe comfortably that close, I can't breathe I would exclaim. He understood not just the need for physical space, but the space I needed to learn and grow, to fail and concur, to find my individuality as a tender and seemingly unsure twenty year old.

Zucchini Koftas in Creamy Coconut Tomato Sauce

My family moved to India from Kuwait when I was just out of high school.  At a confused end of teenage years, academic pressures and moving countries left me at very angry-at-the-world grumpy seventeen year old. To add to the pain, we were shifting to a town. A remote town.

There was nothing much to do at first. No scratch that, there was nothing to do at all. Cousins, whom now I know where ticketed by Ammi came to hang out with me, often returned disappointed in my lack of interest to create a conversation. The only activity that felt remotely similar to my life in Kuwait was reading. I begged cousins to borrow books from the school library. I asked them to hunt down people who might have used books. Most of the books I gathered had been left unattended for years. I felt a terrible comfort in those yellowed pages, sniffing through the smell of old pages that sometimes would surprise me with  the stale smell of dried roses. Days would pass into nights, and I would for all I can remember, sleep reading. 

Paneer Tikka With Grilled Vegetables

In matter of a month  decisions were made, suitcases were being packed and for the first time we were not shopping till we dropped before heading to India. The less things we take, the less we will miss the place, my mom said in her soft yet confident voice. We were leaving Kuwait for good. And not enough words were being exchanged.  There was the pressing question of 'Where am I going?'. Am I really going home or leaving home?