Little Things - Udaipur

Paper Thin Whole Wheat Wraps

The daily produce is laid in front of us on the ground on a wide Indian motif printed, bright and summery red square cloth. We sit on it, with our legs folded, crossed under. Perhaps a posture only Indians can relate to as relaxed.  We teasingly argue about who gets which task to perform. The herbs have to be washed and dried, the cluster beans deveined, the stem plucked of the green chilies and the most sought after task - peel and cube the mangoes, so that one would enjoy sucking the last remaining flesh off the seeds after it's all done. It's messy, but none of the vivid mustard color flesh can go to waste, the king of fruits deserves that respect. 

Watermelon Rose Squash

Is it summer yet? It is here in Udaipur or at least the sight of watermelon is a good sign. Watermelon evokes sweet childhood memories of sitting around a round cutting board, mom meticulously and flawlessly slicing the melon while we sat waiting for our slices and contemplating whether the melon was sweet enough or will require a sprinkle of black salt. 

While sharing meals together is important, fruits like watermelon gives an equal opportunity to bring family together. That is one reason, one tradition so dear to my heart, I'm often reluctant to do much with watermelon.

Lemon, Carrot and Dates Pickle

The sun has started playing peekaboo as the winter bids its final goodbyes. The grey and gloomy clouds are giving way to bright cherry sun only to return with cold breezy winds by evenings. That's also how my life has been in the last year. Like a sweet and sour pickle.

Ginger Garlic and Chilli Paste and Turning 25

The long absence from the blog needs a post of its own. And that I’ll save for another day. Today though, I wanted to talk about turning twenty five. Truth is, I have never been a date person. That one can see from my lack of really celebrating blog anniversaries which apparently falls in this month too. 

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?