Heartbeat of a raindrop

I was probably exposed to my love language very early in life, though it took me 25 years to truly understand what it meant. It wasn’t until I moved to Kharagpur for my master’s that I began to realize its depth and value. As a child, I loved eating vada and sambar, especially the sweet, Mangalore-style variety. Even today, I could sip through buckets of it without pause. Sadly, I couldn’t find that exact taste in Kharagpur or here in Edmonton, but that never stopped me from eating or loving food. In India, food is more than sustenance, it is an emotion, a celebration, and often, a silent expression of love. As author Chitrita Banerji puts it in her book Eating India,  "Food in India is not just a means of satisfying hunger,  it is a cultural expression, an offering to gods, a gift to others, and a language of bonding." In Kharagpur, I began experimenting more in the hostel room with a portable induction stove, cooking with whatever ingredients I could find. That’s how I en...

My journey began back in high school when my maternal grandmother came to stay with us. My mom was busy running her business, and as any independent woman in her early 40s would attest, it’s not easy to start something new at that stage in life. That’s a story for another day, though. What’s crucial here is how her journey inadvertently kickstarted mine—in the kitchen. A family thrives when everyone works together, and I stepped in where I could. It all started humbly with Maggi (aka ramen) and tea. I have always preferred soupy Maggi, over the dry version, though I know many of you might disagree. My initiation into cooking also meant preparing the quintessential evening tea. In most Indian households, chai-time between 4 and 5 PM is non-negotiable. Chai with biscuits is life itself. Initially, my mom tried to make it home for lunch and prepare tea herself, but work often came first. That’s where I stepped in, and the kitchen became my experimental lab. I’ll admit, many horrible tea e...