For the past four years, I have lived a couple of continents away from my parents. I live (relatively) by myself, own a car and am halfway through a doctorate that is killing me in stages. Despite all of this, the only note of real concern that has ever crept into my mother's voice is the weekly posing of these questions " Have you eaten yet? What are you eating? What did you eat this week?", ad infinitum in this vein.
Food is my mother's primary way of expressing love and affection. Other mother's may hug and cuddle, mine produces unsurpassable pav bhaji, dosas and strawberry milkshake. All on the same day. Given the miles that are now a barrier to personally stuffing my face, her modus operandi has become Surprise Food Parcels. These are giant boxes of food (Alphonso mangoes one summer, faraal one Diwali) that will arrive at my doorstep and have, on one occasion, made me cry.
***
I have inherited some of my mother's legendary food pushing abilities in another form. Her's are more of a hawkish watching of who's eating what, expecting their stomachs to quadruple in size and then inflicting upon them, beta, one more roti, you only ate 7 so far, please.
I push people to read.
The most successful of my cajoling/bullying experiments has been Jenni, who never EVER read a book. It took years of work, and there she was, casually talking about Murkami the other day. I think I understand why people enter academia after at all.
I spend mental space thinking of books that I can match up with people. Can't help buying/mailing/lending people books that they just HAVE to read. Heaven would be a huge library, with pouffy old lady chairs, the sky for a ceiling, tables with coffee rings and lots of people to discuss PG Wodehouse with.
***
Summer is here :D It is that gleefully sweaty, watermelon-infused, pink cheetah print chaddi shorts time again. Fitz and the Tantrums are my band for the summer.
***
Love,
what a silly game we play,
Like a summer's day in May,
What is love? What is love?
I just want it to be love
-Love
Matt White
Food is my mother's primary way of expressing love and affection. Other mother's may hug and cuddle, mine produces unsurpassable pav bhaji, dosas and strawberry milkshake. All on the same day. Given the miles that are now a barrier to personally stuffing my face, her modus operandi has become Surprise Food Parcels. These are giant boxes of food (Alphonso mangoes one summer, faraal one Diwali) that will arrive at my doorstep and have, on one occasion, made me cry.
***
I have inherited some of my mother's legendary food pushing abilities in another form. Her's are more of a hawkish watching of who's eating what, expecting their stomachs to quadruple in size and then inflicting upon them, beta, one more roti, you only ate 7 so far, please.
I push people to read.
The most successful of my cajoling/bullying experiments has been Jenni, who never EVER read a book. It took years of work, and there she was, casually talking about Murkami the other day. I think I understand why people enter academia after at all.
I spend mental space thinking of books that I can match up with people. Can't help buying/mailing/lending people books that they just HAVE to read. Heaven would be a huge library, with pouffy old lady chairs, the sky for a ceiling, tables with coffee rings and lots of people to discuss PG Wodehouse with.
***
Summer is here :D It is that gleefully sweaty, watermelon-infused, pink cheetah print chaddi shorts time again. Fitz and the Tantrums are my band for the summer.
***
Love,
what a silly game we play,
Like a summer's day in May,
What is love? What is love?
I just want it to be love
-Love
Matt White
1 comment:
I sometimes worry that there are countless people I have annoyed by bringing a book into the conversation every time.
Also, can I share your heaven?
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