Check out 16 Return-To-Work Programs In India For Ambitious Women Like You!
A mom reminisces old days when her children were young and would devour the delicacies made by their loving mom in a jiffy.
Pleasant reminiscences engulfed me when I was frying pooris for the Puja today – I became nostalgic and recalled the days when my oil-filled kadhai was a standard fixture on the gas stove. There was always something delicious(hopefully!) being made, the aromas wafting through the house, giving it all a warm, homely feeling. If it weren’t the differently shaped and brightly colored fryums, it would be bread pakoras or smileys or the regular, round, golden brown pooris – which the kids would compete to devour more of. I had to find or create ‘gap days’ in which I would strain the oil and wash the kadhai.
This was when the kids were small or in school – they would be forever hungry – back from games or just wanting a great snack – which obviously meant a homemade delicacy whipped up by mom. Those were the days when they still preferred ‘halwa’ to ‘dunkin doughnuts’ or my pakoras to ‘lays chips’. Those were the days of very fulfilling ‘toiling’ in the kitchen. I must’ve cribbed about the heat but their fighting over the delicacies laid out must’ve been enough to make me want to do it again and again.
As I said, this was when the kids were younger. I took out the big kadhai after ages today and rolled out the pooris. The diet conscious young adults at home took only a few and were done. They enjoyed what they ate, but there was no fighting over who would get the perfectly done poori or who would not take the flat, greasy ones. The halwa still sits in the bowl after 5 hours, having lost its place to chips and the likes. As I fried a few more, just to satisfy my maternal instincts of stuffing them, I was struck by the thought that even these would not be made after they’ve left. How soon they grow up ! What a clichéd sentence and yet this has stood steadfast over generations.
I heave a sigh and smile – I still have a full house – there’re just different things I enjoy with them. I guess the panju mom in me will have to give way to the cosmopolitan mom whipping up lasagna and pies, or better still, ordering pizza! My ‘forever-guided- by-the- tummy’ brats have grown up into young adults with a killer sense of humour and an intellect to match. I guess it’s time the tummy took a backseat ( and here, the punju mom snorts!)
Image Source: Pexels
This post has published with none or minimal editorial intervention. Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views, individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times.
Stay updated with our Weekly Newsletter or Daily Summary - or both!
We often hear of relationships doomed by distances, of love wearing off when physical proximity ceases, and of growing apart. Most of my life I grew up witnessing the opposite of this. Thus, my belief in growing together whether distant or near stands tall.
When I think back today, I owe a lot of my value system to being a part of army life. This is the love of steel-hearted women who breathe life and passion into the soldiers of the armed forces.
A book by Swapnil Pandey, The Force Behind the Forces, is apt here. The love of these gritty women powers the men to confidently step out and face the most hostile situations. I feel privileged to share a personally witnessed account of this undying love and faith.
When someone accuses you of "too much feminism", what they are really saying is, "I am uncomfortable with you challenging the status quo and disrupting my privilege".
Time and again, there is one phrase that keeps coming up in the social media discourse on feminism. Any guesses?
Ah, no prizes for guessing the infamous “itni bhi feminist” or “too much feminism” phrase, a classic eye-roller for me, and I am sure for many more of my tribe, in the realm of gender equality discussions.
Pray tell me, how can an ideology, a movement be too ‘much’? It’s not salt or the seasoning of your soup where you can go, “Oops, too much salt, only one spoon was required”. Either you stand for what feminism stands for, or you don’t.
Please enter your email address