By: Fizza Abbas
All that greens is not mint
As the lockdown began, two wooden doors welcomed me into a territory that was quite unknown: the hub of spices, the battlefield of condiments where they fight over who should go first into the simmering pot— became somewhat familiar. In a Bollywood movie, Kabhi Khushie Kabhi Gram, there is a scene where the mother instinctively knows of the arrival of her son and she brings arti with her to welcome him home - I feel the same every time I enter the kitchen now The only difference is she knew it was her son while I constantly have to ask my hubby, Am I putting in coriander or mint?
arti– a ritual performed in homes and temples in which incense and light is offered to a deity
A black-haired woman with a thin, frail body, lying naked from head to toe with a kashkul in her hands, asking for a penny from those moving around the corridor. I often dream of her. Her hazel green eyes complement the mole on her neck while her delicate hands tell me her mother never involved her in any household chores - she was always her dear darling. She was once called kindness now she is known as aid
kashkul– a beggar’s bowl
Fizza Abbas is a Freelance Content Writer based in Karachi, Pakistan. She is fond of poetry and music. Her works have been published on quite a few platforms including Poetry Village and Poetry Pacific.
Categories: Poetry, shelter-in-place
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