Of Samosas Stale and Fresh

Off The Beaten Track

WAH

A plate of samosas sit in front of me. Steam coils in wisps above the coffee cup dissipating into nothingness. Nursery rhymes play on a loop on my phone. Laddu hums along as she drinks her milk. I pick one of the samosas and feel for a moment how limp it is. I tear a piece and pop it into my mouth. An intense longing for the crispy onion and potato filled samosas of my childhood in Madras overpowers me. I can taste the raw onion chutney, pungent, sharp and exploding with flavors in my mouth. I feel disoriented. I pull myself together and get through the ritual of my evening coffee before the kids get home.

I realize with a start that this month will mark fifteen years of my moving to this country. I remember days when such longing would have caused me to drag Saathi and driveā€¦

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