The Absence of Salt

Lighting the gas stove, glancing at the ignition,

I placed a saucepan on it, planning to immerse the house with the aroma of my cooking skills. 

I felt someone watching me from behind.

A small smile appeared on my face. 

Quickly gained my composure back,

without turning around, warned her to sit and relax.

Not to utter a single word or make any noise,

Rather, observe me lovingly how I make matar paneer of my choice.

I could feel her gaze on me, sitting calmly in the corner of the room, just as I said.

Although I know she wants to interrupt me so bad.

This was the first recipe she taught me,

All because of my never-ending love for the paneer which couldn't stop me.

Tap-tap-tap, sound of a knife cutting the onions on the wooden board.

Wondering how even humans have these onion layers endowed.

Ducts began to build up fresh tears,

Making an excuse for my kajal to smear.

The oil in the pan was boiling hot,

waiting for the wet curry leaves to fall and do some somersault.

The fried golden onions and red tomato blend so well with each other, 

No doubt I was pairing them as long-time lovers.

Mixed a spoon full of seasonings and spice, 

variety of chilli peppers, cloves, aromatic bay leaves of medicinal use as per her advice.

Paneer in the plate were waiting for a slice,

I playfully chopped them in the shape of dice.

"Tanu, it smells so good", she said.

Enough for me to go on without any stress.

Switching the chimney off, turning the gas off shutting the noise all around. 

Silence creeped as the faint sound of old music could be heard from the neighborhood.

Peeked around to witness even aunty pleasing her children with food.

Inhaling the amazing aroma as I put butter on it,

It smells like how someone used to make it.

I smiled sheepishly at her direction holding the bowl filled with my special dish.

I walked to the corner of the room, opened the glass door and placed my dish in front of her. 

How I wish the spoon would cross the barrier of the photo frame.

She, who was perched on the kitchen shelf,

Smilingly, whispered how appetizing it felt.

Just like any other mom, she couldn't come up to point my single fault,

Although the dish was screaming, a pure indication of the absence of salt.