Born | Pickled Cottage Cheese Curry

After a break of literally two months I sit down today to break the slumber. A lot has happened in these few days which have gone away like the autumn winds. On 6th of December I became a mother again….yes again…..to the most beautiful boy. He came into our life as fresh blossom to enrich our winter frosted grounds. I have a lot to write about it but perhaps in another post. I always wrote about whether I would be able to relinquish this life of constant glare of digital media. As this is the platform which provides the maximum glory to oh so ordinary souls! A halo is woven around their work and thoughts so dearly shared.But when I held my six and half pound of squishiness drenched in my blood and sweat, my thoughts were sublime and I was stuck in trance. Déjà vu!  I felt the same flutter some six years back when my cherub (DD) who arrived on 17th February. Life has given me so many avenues to learn, unlearn and let go. I can only say Thank you God!!

Some thirty years back I stood in the crowded corridor of the hospital holding my dad’s hands. I squeezed a little brown bag in my other hand. It had some cadbury’s Eclairs. I waited in anticipation for the women in white knee-length dress to call my name. I always thought she was a witch with her vicious needle. But today it didn’t matter, I just wanted to go inside. The sign above the green door had letters written in black flashing “MATERNITY WARD”. At that moment they were my most favourite alphabets collated together. Beyond that door somewhere would be my mum. I kept grinning to myself and constantly asked questions to my dad. I hadn’t seen my mum for the last three days and the gift she had promised would be awaiting.

Suddenly the demi-goddess uttered “Mr Roy, you can go in”.

I jumped out and ran to the door. My dad went racing behind me as I was quite agile. I kept muttering “where is mama?” “where is mama?”.There in the far corner of the ward near the big french widows I saw my mother giving a frail smile. I rushed to that corner and stopped short of a few metres when my eyes wandered to the white crib beside her. I forgot how desperate I was to meet my mum. I rushed to the crib and saw a tiny head popping out of a swaddled mass. It was the most beautiful toy I had ever seen. All that was inside me had melted. I became overwhelmed and wept. “what is this mama?” “Why did you leave me mama?” “Why are the eyes closed?” “Can i hold it?”

My parents looked helplessly at each other. My mum held me in her arms and planted a moist kiss on my forehead and said ” That’s your baby sister”!! I knew that I would get a baby sister because it was I who had insisted on having one. I fidgeted into the brown bag and took out a handful of Eclairs. My mum asked what will I do with this. I replied innocently that the baby will eat all of them. 🙂

My parents and onlookers all burst out laughing and my mum gave me a hard cuddle.

The same excitement and innocence was felt when my cherub saw her baby brother. I think times unravel so many good and bad but the childhood innocence and mum’s love remains untainted and unaltered.

To all the readers, I was born with photographic memory. The vivid scenes and scape are etched in my mind and surface now and then. They were certainly reinforced by my mum who had quoted these instances and anecdotes as bed time stories.

The poem below surmises my thoughts on the word BORN in my life.

Poem for the Children

You were a whisper Conceived in the golden time I was mumbling songs In your first unborn moments In a hospital bed Touched by ocean breath Born in an emerald time Heard my songs bounce off cliffs And ripple the ocean

In a heartbeat You had grown your own Eyes Your own Voice And to rock peaks And cradles I returned

An icy wind Made me afraid To raise my voice

And now the power Of that speck of child Against jutting peaks Returns with the hail Rides the winds Of midnight

When they finally handed you to me I moved your warm blanket back Memorized the shape of your head Counted the tiny lines & folds Of your new skin

I wanted to see your eyes open to me The weight of you In my arms that first morning You are a miracle!

We carried you up the stairs You grew up here They pulled you out, not knowing And as you put your hands into mine Everywhere became a bright green world.

Cooking for me is therapeutic. But ever since my hands got messy with poo and calendar overflowing with feeds food my friends is no longer a luxury. It been quite difficult meeting priorities. But my experience so far has been phenomenal.I leave you with this interesting recipe.

I would love to hear your thoughts, feedback and/or rating below. And if you share your creations on Instagram, don’t forget to tag me #heuristic_kitchens. Happy cooking and reading folks! x

Pickled Cottage Cheese Curry