The House Smells of Winters!

 

The house smells of winters, which are associated with “saag,” a mixed greens delicacy made in northern India. A, the husband, is preparing it in the kitchen for don’t know how many hours. And it’s his nirvana. He will enthusiastically shop for the greens, clean and cut them endlessly for hours, followed by cooking, mashing, making the “tadka” and some more here and there. I, on the contrary, can never fathom why someone would want to spend hours in the kitchen cooking something that will be eaten in just 20 minutes time (Okay, may be a few days in case of “saag”). As it is there are umpteen things we do every day that last only a day such as brushing teeth, bathing, eating, sleeping, and so on. We have been repeating those processes for as many years as we have been born.

Ironically, the things that matter the most and will fly with us to another world with our soul are the most neglected. How many of us manage to sit silent, or remember the God, or read scriptures or do whatever will empower the soul. Such is the “maya” that we are bound by this vicious circle.

Anyways, I digressed yet again. So, it’s 10 pm and A is preparing “saag” and the house smells of winters. We may eat it tomorrow for lunch or dinner with ‘Makai roti. Dad will be the happiest. A is making in large amount as it will be devoured by 7 people, including me. We may go to parent’s house tomorrow and relish it together. They stay in the same society as mine, so life is nothing but bliss. A pampers them with lots of delicacies. A few days back he made Pasta for S’s (my sister-in-law) birthday. Biryani is in the pipeline since long.

Like A, my mother adores cooking and always have delectable dishes up her sleeves. She pampers A and me with food every then and now.  In this wonderful set-up, I am the one who benefits the most as I can do without cooking for days. What can be more beautiful in winters than not having to cook. Just cosy up in bed, read and wander in your fantasyland. Any good reads you suggest? Let the house smells of winters, which is akin to books too.