joie de l'écriture

That moment when in the sterilized cool office air when you suddenly miss the aroma of the crackling curry leaves in hot oil when your mom makes your favorite yellow dal. You couldn't tell the toor from the moong. It was just this yellow dal that you had every single day since you can remember. But now you know. Now you know the ingredients that go into it, not from your memory but out of habit. You have also borrowed her secrets of making it. You are close enough, but not quite there. While everyone else has finished a bowl, you wish you could just have a spoonful of her love.