Reminiscing about the memories of a friend, I can never forget her unique visits to our place around noon. She somehow persuades us to make all the arrangements for the cooking of 'theplas', that spicy flatbread so distinct to Gujarati food. And then she comes and heads straight to our kitchen. Her eyes roll to the round-shaped moons, and her fingers deftly flip them up on the griddle. Once, twice, and down on the plate!
While she keeps her hands busy with joyful gestures preparing the cuisine, she continues to weave absorbing stories of her childhood days.
Sitting alone, I recall her open-mouthed smiles and graceful chatters.
windless day ...
the cuckoo takes off
on her own song