My Mom made the best phulkas and parathas. And she would do it with such ease – as a child, I remember secretly thinking it was magic. She’d do it with such a flourish. She’d roll out the dough into perfect circles or triangles and then flip them over and over. When I had a square tiffin box in school, she made chapatis the exact shape and dimensions so that when I opened my box during lunch, it would look perfect. She cared so much.
She cared very much about mundane chores such as washing vessels or hanging out washed clothes to dry. She would make sure that it was all coordinated – similarly colored cups on one side – the larger vessels in the wire basket – point was – whatever was visible had to look pleasing to her. While hanging out clothes to dry, she would make sure Vidur‘s clothes got all the blue clips, and soft clips – as if the tough clips would hurt his clothes. She’d hang out his vests together, t shirts together…and then happily admire her work in the sunlight.
So – how can I not help being a little like that? And remember her each time I do something? Some people called it OCD. But we don’t care about that. We had such fun teasing each other and enjoying ourselves. I am really proud that she was my Mom. Was?? Hey, still is.