My grandma's favourite dish

Yesterday evening, I indulged in some cooking. The dish was perfectly suited for the cold weather we’ve been experiencing.

In our home, we’ve always called this recipe Sengula (the sour, soupy version) and Lapta (the sweet, soupy version). Just as the idea came to me, I decided to see if there was a recipe online. I discovered that a Maharashtrian dish called Sengulaya actually exists—and why wouldn't it? After all, my Grandma (whom we all called Bai) was born and raised in a small village in Maharashtra..

What inspired me to write about this is the incredible power that a specific recipe, a song, a habit, or even a fragrance holds. These things carry stories, memories, and entire eras of our lives. They have a beautiful capacity to pause time.

Since it had been a long time since I last made this, I called my Mom for a quick "KT" (knowledge transfer) on the basics. By the time I got home from the office, I had the exact process laid out in my mind, optimizing my cooking time against when my hunger pangs would kick in, especially since I had skipped breakfast.

Everything went smoothly. I was so immersed in the process that I didn't even worry about the quantity or the taste; I had simply found my "flow."

As I cooked, I remembered Bai—her gentle way of living and how she embraced life and pure, authentic, home-cooked Jain vegetarian food until her very last breath. I felt blessed to have had her as the "tree" that provided all the nurturing I needed.

While shaping the rings, I engaged in some fun banter with my family on our group chat. It made me admire the simplicity with which food keeps us mentally fit—the creativity, patience, detail, and balance required of the women of the house while they cooked. They may never have realized it themselves, but I can say so with confidence.

Ring by ring, I was weaving thoughts and childhood memories. A beautiful light-heartedness took over, and I felt completely at ease.