Member-only story
The history of my hands
Preparing Indian flatbread
I prepared Roti (Indian flatbread) in April 2002. It was my first. I was 12 back then. It was around 7:00 in the morning.
I remember that day because it was cold (like most days in my hometown in India). And I had to take off my sweater — a blue tweed one I’d once worn to school — to prepare food. I remember that day because my mother left the previous night. I’d never prepared anything before, never entered the kitchen to cook.
It is important for girls to learn to cook, she told us.
Roti was daunting to prepare. It’s hard… I didn’t want those sorts of remarks. My mother had perfected it over the years. Hers was soft and fluffy.
I wanted her to say I was good, but compliments didn’t come easy to my mother. She is a perfectionist. There would always be something less, something to improve. I didn’t want her to say I wasn’t good enough. Like the way she said for the family, she didn’t like. Her food is not tasty.
It’s over. It’s decided.
She isn’t indecisive like the English weather.
Let’s rain. It’s been over five minutes since we haven’t. Okay enough already. Lets be warm and sunny.
