Life comes at you fast. A few things get thrown your way. You pause for a moment. Smile at how far you have come in life. How little you know. And that there is so much more for you to learn. A potpouri of all these. Life moves on again.
You are in the car with four of your female colleagues -- aged 45 and above. They joke, half of which you don't really get, but you laugh out loud anyways. Then they converse about edible panties. You take a minute to realize what it really is -- a cookie? bah....maybe.....jeee! amazed that such a thing really exists and that you didn't have a clue. Blame Victoria for keeping such secrets. And the 55 year old throws in, "Ha.. Upsi might have 3-4 of them. look at the way she nods". You stop at the lights, comment on the weather. Life moves on.
You are back from work early and decide to make baturas. With chole. While kneading the dough, you think about the first time you made baturas. You being the new bride wanting to impress your man. Wanting to get into his heart through his stomach.
Calling India, waking up Amma from her sleep, just for the recipe. "yes Amma, we are fine. No, no, just called. Want to make baturas. yes -- just for the two of us. No, no friends coming. OK. About two spoonfuls of flour, yeast and yogurt, water, salt. OK".
You measure exactly two spoonful; yeast and the rest dive into the flour. Wait patiently for two hours for the dough to levitate and overflow. Nothing happens. Infact you wonder if it has shrinked in size. You put a damp towel over the dough, keep it inside the oven and a little later turn the oven lights on. Nothing.
By that time sun is already up in your hometown and your Amma is online querying about those baturas. "No amma....it has not risen yet." Argument ensue on how you religiously followed her recipe, to realize that you used just two table spoons of flour.
Amma laughs hysterically -- "areee budhu, I was just saying "about 2 spoons" and I meant the bigger thavi* (malayalam for *spoon) that we use in home, not a table spoon".
You empty the golf-ball sized dough from the bigger pot (you used the biggest pot available in the kicthen, because you know, the dough triples its size) into a smaller one. The dough you have is enough to make one batura , atmost two, if you can afford to stretch it. Half the dough gets stuck in the rolling pin anyways.
Five years later on a Friday afternoon, you make delicious baturas. With chole. Sliced raw onions and lemon on side. Life moves on.
And then at times, you want life to stand still. The moments not to pass by.
Like when you delivered your little one and held him close to you for the first time. Sweet pure love! How life seemed perfect and so did everything around it. You blink your eyes and your little one magically turns ONE. And in the night, you pick him up from his crib to your bed and snuggle him close to you, wedged in your armpit that fits him in so cozly.
Wishing time takes a break, come back after a while, just so the feeling lingers before life moves on again.