Somewhere in the middle between complaining about “Ghar ka khana” and missing and eating hostel food in silence, she realized that the food lacked flavor.
Before going to our houses for the first time before the Diwali Vacation, I am sure that all of us have developed a list. This list may include things like shopping, getting together with friends, and other things. However, I have already planned out what it is that I want to consume by writing it down. things that I would like my mother to prepare and pack for me to take with me to the hostel from here on out.
On the day that I arrived home after eating some very revolting food on the train, I was greeted by gulab jamun, Kurkure wali bhindi dal, rice, and proper rotis. After several months, I was finally able to identify the type of vegetable that I was eating; there was neither rice nor Sambhar, just a straightforward and reassuring home-cooked dinner. Ah… the feel of those tender, homemade rotis, which are wonderful.
That in and of itself does not imply that I am looking down on the food that I have been provided within the dorm, but the fact of the matter is that no one in this world can beat the flavor of the food that my mother prepares for me, nor can anyone beat the love that my mother has in her eyes while she is serving that food to me. Therefore, it is more of an expression of affection and love that I have for my mother rather than a complaint to her about the meal that I’ve been provided.
The meal that was being presented to me, as well as the fact that I was eating food that had been prepared by my mother, gave me a sense of happiness, satisfaction, and thankfulness.
While I was eating, I experienced a sense of security and serenity.
Sometimes it is not just the meal, but the feeling that one person carries within themselves and the high sentimental values that are associated with the cuisine. I used to tell my parents that we ought to eat outside more frequently, and I used to consume food that is not homemade, very much. However, when I was unable to acquire my “Ghar ka khana,” I ached for it. Earlier in my life, I used to tell my parents that we ought to eat outside more frequently. I have known for as long as I can remember that eating food cooked at home has many positive effects on one’s health and that there are a great number of advantages to doing so, but now I can say that eating food cooked at home is also good for the heart because it provides a level of satisfaction that one can never get from anything else.
Other than this, whenever I would tell my mother things like “I am on a diet” or “I don’t want to have the food which makes me chubby,” her consistent response, which she never grew tired of giving, was “you’ll know the value once you will stay away from me and the food which makes you FAT beta.” She never seemed to get frustrated with this response. And now I can experience the anguish that my mother was experiencing at the time while she was saying those things, as well as the feelings that were behind them.
When I first arrived back in my hometown after being away for five months, the first thing my mother asked me was, “How is the Food in a Mess?” Kitni roti khata hai? Time se khata hai ke nhi ? Blaaaa Blaaaaaa. And I swore to you that I had tears in my eyes at the time. My mother comprehended the feeling that was causing me to cry, and as my tears fell, she whispered, “Aaja Kurkure wali bhindi banai hai.”
Things that used to be a burden in our life and things that were aspirations of ours at some point in our upbringing have, for the most part, switched places and are now the opposite of what they used to be. This indicates that the idea of living in a hostel and hanging out freely without permission has now become the thing that we don’t want to follow, and instead, the dream for us is to get permission from our parents or loved ones and stay with them.
The majority of us have repeated the phrase “Change is the only thing that is constant in life,” and it has been brought to my attention.
I have had numerous experiences in which my preferences have shifted, whether it be regarding how one dresses or the concept of enjoyable activities. I miss it every single time while having food, every single time when friends come to my room to call me for the mess, and whenever I check the menu on the menu board I miss my mother screaming at me for not having food on time and calling me again and again “khaana tumko khaana hai ki mujhe,” “leave that phone and come straight here,” the way she always waited for me to come back home from college. The only thing that has remained the same is that I came to understand its significance in my life, and throughout the years, that significance has only grown.
Now that we are back in the hostels, we are attempting to make peace with the messy food again, which consists of rice, sabzi, dal, and whatever else, and we are waiting for the time when we can make our “lists” again. Sometimes it isn’t just the food; some feelings are attached to the food, which is something that only a mother can carry.