My dad was my universe, my university, and my hero literally. When I started cooking very early, I used to ask him why my dishes weren't as tasty as mom’s. I followed every step, observing everything, yet something was missing. He used to tell me that I wasn't pouring in that "extra special masala" that mom always used. He explained that her motherly wishes, the deep desire for her kids to eat well and grow poured into the pot automatically. He would encourage me, saying, "It’s okay, this is your dish with your flavors."
My beloved daughter and my superb soul of a son both love to eat, especially stuffed parathas. Today, I made and ate parathas, but the taste was different. Something was amiss, big time. I got the answer from my dad again virtually, this time. That one "masala" is still missing.
The way my kids used to enjoy those piping hot parathas, their satisfaction, our shared presence, and the fulfillment of making food for them all of that is completely absent. How can my own parathas taste the same without them? All the ingredients are fresh, and I am the same cook, but the experience is not the same. I miss my foody kids today a lot. It is difficult to eat a paratha alone; I am simply not used to it.
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