Memories With Ma
It was 1980 in Shillong, the incessant rains, the slow steaming insurgency, nauseatingly present in the mountain air thick with tension.
It was a time of fear. I barely understood much, Yet I knew it was a time when you are supposed to not trust your neighbour or make new friends.
Brave Ma went alone during curfew release hour, her head held high, as she walked into the lantern lit tiny Khasi shops that sold meat and vegetables, it was like kissing death.
I recall that eternal wait for Ma, it remains fresh with its fragmented painful memories.
I counted the hour and minutes for her return. My naive mind was excited to see the bulging packet of meat, something to look forward to during this time of mayhem.
Sunday morning broke with the the mist filled mountains ahead, I woke up groggy to see the silhouette of Ma marinating the mutton pieces.
As the aroma of the tart piping mustard oil, the large onions, the ginger, garlic paste made on the stone grinder called the “Sheelpata” the broken bay leaf hit the senses, I knew it was going to be a good noon inspite of the curfew.
Ma used to mumble angrily about her life and the darned town.
I remained oblivious and used to hover around the kitchen, to watch in wonder, the gravy simmer, with the mutton chunks with the potatoes, that ignited hope.
At lunch we ate in silence, numbing the fear of the curfew and food was the comfort we sought in the cold stillness.
Now when I miss home, I cook the same curry but I can never get the taste of the past, that lingers longingly on my taste buds.
I have left Shillong. The rain is no longer the same, the places have changed, the address is swapped but the special Sunday noon lunch follows like a faithful shadow throughout my life. It reminds me of a secure place, I used to call home.
Sound Recording & Mixing by @roshan_machayya_music
Thanks for Listening!