I often travel back in time.
Just close my eyes,
And let the reels of past unspool,
And I can see what my heart desires,
Clear as images on my television screen.
There she is, not in her choice of place though
But what difference does it make,
For once there she transmutes,
The wizard ready to cast her spell.
She cuts and chops; her hand moving in a rhythmic manner,
She grounds and blends; fresh scent of spices intoxicating us,
Lentils in the pan like an upswelling in sea
The hiss and the sizzle, as palm-length pieces of fish
Find its way into the frying pan,
Sukhto, concoction of greens, filled with goodness,
Much more than a nutritionist can imagine.
Oh, how can I forget her chicken curry,
The image of richness in its very core.
God knows what alchemy she practiced,
For it made our stomach growl fiercer than a cry of beast.
And all our senses came alive and danced in anticipation.
I am a great player too.
My man, my kid would write reams singing praises of my masterworks.
But I don’t find in them, the magical taste of my mother’s creations,
The wizard in the kitchen.
Sukhto is a dish popular among Bengalis. It is a made with a medley of vegetables like raw plantain, bitter gourd, eggplant.
Shilpi Chakraborty
