So this is my largest spread this Ramadan. Except for the three mini quarter plate dishes, rest all have been prepared by me.

Those round things are Bread Bombs. Well, I forgot how to properly bake them and they really became blown bombs. They burnt on the downside. Really annoying, as this was supposed to be my main star dish of the evening.

Beside them is Dahi Badey, or Urad Dal balls dipped in flavoured curd. I made them in a hurry. Not my best, but were eatable.

Bread and chicken filling square mini sandwiches. These were a hit! Instead of those baked blacked bread balls, I should have just squared them to mini sandwiches.

In the same platter, spicy potato Rolls and Urad Dal bhajiye (fried balls).

Lastly, small black gram in spicy chat flavour with white onions topping. These turned out super yum!

[In the three quarter plates, these were sent in by the lady owner upstairs. Thats china grass/ agar agar pudding parallelograms. Coconut and mango flavours. Next to that is Dhokla. This super amazing fluffy light weight Gujarati dish. Beside those are chicken kheema Samosa, bread squares with veg filling and chicken rolls. ]

This, was a huge heavy Iftar. Absolutely filled my tummy. My shirt can no longer hold my belly !!!!

I love to cook. I love to make delicious dishes. God has blessed me with a food-loving hubby who really motivates me and appreciates my hard work and the taste of my hand made food. Just seeing him joyously devour makes me so happy. And yes, my kids go gaga over their certain favourites and its immense ecstasy seeing kids eat. Something. They are really picky. I feel like I have hit a jackpot of lottery if they relish something, but then they will fight over it to eat it all.

God has also blessed me with a very Hardworking mother. All I can do today is because of her. Unlike my MIL, who relies mostly on restaurant ready dishes or items or snacks for iftar or otherwise. She is a good cook too. She makes yummy lunches and breakfasts. But beyond that, its a no from her. Not my mamma though. My mother made the hardest dishes seem so easy to make. We were 7 family members, our parents and we 5 siblings. Mom used to be fasting, handling our school hours and mealtimes, and still make huge spread for iftar with so many tongue relishing belly happy dishes. I miss her cooking. She made everything from scratch. The best part about her is that she never made it seem like she was doing a favour cooking for us that way. She used to enjoy making it for us and even enjoy eating with us. It used to be hard for her though. The summer heat along with the kitchen cook top heat, I remember her back of the shirt used to be drenched in sweat.  Her hardwork has paid off. We all have learnt the essence of enjoying to make delicacies, feed our families with happiness and joy, and make each meal an event to cherish.

This Ramadan, I had and have upto just 19 days out of 30 to be able to cook and make handmade dishes for my family. This Friday, I will have my surgery. And then bed rest and recovery. Hence, I am trying my best to have my kids and hubby relish as much of home made dishes as they can.

I know, I know, that Ramadan isn’t about the cooking and the dishes. It is about spiritual cleansing, fasting and nobility. But as a woman of the household, just like my mom, I want to pass on this legacy. This legacy of being able to be tough enough to manage worship, gain extra rewards, as well as celebrate this blessing filled month. I want my kids to grow up like I did. Embracing all of the goodness and blessings that come along with this month. Both, the fasting and the feasting. To be grateful to be able to afford such a spread, to be grateful to have the ability to spin out such dishes, to be grateful to get a chance to foster the relationships with neighbours by sharing with them too. And to be able to be grateful to watch your much loved family eat each bite with happiness shining in their eyes, their hungry bellies getting filled with food and drink. To watch them Thank the Lord for everything and us too…us too… to watch them smile at us and be happy for being together, in love peace and happiness.


I write again.

I have been away for a while. Enjoying my sunshine to its fullest.

God answers prayers.

I started taking math tutions  for an 8th grader. This can also be read as my coffers getting filled once more! Well, no actually, I did this to kill time and make the most of it. Math sums have run my dusty cogwheels again. After a long time.

I am also teaching my bro-inlaw Accountancy subjects.

Amidst this, I enjoyed the love being showered on me by my better half.

Like nature, after the day, the sun sets. The darkness comes out.

And like summer gives into rain, my good days faded a bit and now the rain has begin to pitter patter.

I find myself very weak at this point of life. Physically. My legs hurt. A lot. Not just hurt, its such a dainty word. My legs PAIN. Around my knees especially.

My FIL constantly belittles my parenting. It goes to my head and demotivates me beyond words. I am trying to raise strong kids. I don’t want them to grow up as tantrum throwers and cry babies, craving attention. And in the midst of this, both my kids are 3-4 aged and they EAT my head. I have so much pent up frustration, that I eventually yell at them. I am trying very hard to handle all the aspects of my life. Pulling together cooking, household duties, washing, cleaning, ass wiping as soon as I wake up, everything, along with a little bit of teaching, and somebody tells me on my face that I am doing parenting level -1.

I am trying very hard. I am among people, who when I am given a choice I would abandon at first notice. The amount of negativity drags me into the mud daily, that I let my tears run in the shower. I am holding myself with a piece of thread. Hope. Just Hope. That things will be alright. Giving time, some time.

The first showers of the year began on Wednesday. The literal rain. The sound of the droplets excited the child in me. But that died sooner than I wanted it too. The adult-ness of life, quietened me. I just watched my white candle melt away.

A distant cousin of mine won an award for poetry. I am happy for him. But deep down, a voice in me sighed deeply. I was a poet too. I thought I buried the poet in me. I buried Rose. Or so I thought. She yelled from within, yesterday. Under the sky with the fading sun. Rose woke up within me. (Nope I don’t have MPD, Rose is my poetic nickname). Why did I stop writing poetry? I don’t really know. But when I did stop, everyone else was writing. I have always wandered towards paths not taken. Well, I have now fallen in a pit. There is a way out that is visible to me, but it has a rope that I have to climb. A rope that I have been trying to climb since October 2015. God knows I tried my best. I keep slipping halfway through. God help me out.

Another thing that beats the brains out of me is my dysfunctional mobile phone. In this such a modern day and age, I am stuck with two hopeless mobile phones. Lava A79 and an even useless Nokia XL.

My Lava A79 is struck with a virus that attacks my phone as soon as I turn on an internet connection. I lost contacts, messages, and so many things in trying to wipe format and reboot the phone. And just as the bright screen gets on, I am hit with the virus again. And yeah, my daughter decided one day to pull out the charger cable while my phone was charging. The inner pins of the phone got slightly twisted. Charging that phone now is pure torture.

Nokia XL? Its Nokia. Incomplete version of an Android. The phone fell last year, so there’s spiderweb cracks on my screen held together by cellotape. Battery drains as fast as it charges. The browser dies on me often.

I also lost my 8GB memory card.

I can continue writing so many paragraphs on things going wrong with me right now. I spend the whole of yesterday crying at the same time hiding my tears from my loved ones. Hard things can’t be ignored for long. My human heart shrieks out from time to time.

Nothing is in my hands. Everything is going by flow.

My tuition kid flunked her math exam. Because her basics are poor. And we dint have more than a week to prepare for the exam. Failures in life punch me in my belly.

I haven’t. But I have failed as a mom, failed as a daughter, failed as a teacher, failed my health. I am masking myself infront of my parents. I can’t tell them my problems simply because they can’t solve it. Instead they would just worry. I don’t want to put the bag of worries on anyone’s shoulders. But I am also getting tired of fighting this battle like a lone brave soldier. I am not brave. I am just a broken person held together by hope in God and love from my hubby.

I have  got to stop myself from withering away into emptiness. Time is dragging.