As a child, I had a love-hate relationship with food. At weddings and parties, I would be utterly disappointed if there wasn’t any non-vegetarian food. I happily ate no more than five dishes in total and that too, repeatedly. On family trips abroad, my father would tirelessly hunt for Indian restaurants because I refused to try anything remotely unfamiliar to my taste buds.
I loved butter chicken but couldn’t tolerate the spices. Still, I’d continue eating it, sweating buckets and squirming in discomfort, but never stopping. That was my relationship with food: dramatic, difficult, and somehow delicious.
Then came boarding school. I was genuinely excited my father and elder sister had both gone to one, and I’d grown up hearing about all their incredible experiences. But behind my enthusiasm, there was my mother’s tearful face as she reminded me, again and again, “You’ll have to eat whatever they give you.” She tried to convince me it wasn’t such a great idea. Strangely, at that moment, all the terrifying vegetables and fruits didn’t seem so scary anymore.
During my very first week at school, I was served baingan ka bharta , my lifelong nemesis. I remember staring at it in horror, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, the sound of my mother’s voice echoing in my head. I broke down and cried. But somewhere in that moment, I decided: a vegetable can’t scare me. I’m a big girl now. My mom isn’t here to protect me anymore so I will protect myself. It was a turning point. I didn’t magically start loving baingan, but I stopped hating it so much. I grew up a little that day.
Over time, my mom started noticing the change. She’d proudly say, “You’re the kind of child who prefers home-cooked food over pizzas, pastas, and burgers.” It meant the world to her and, eventually, to me too.
Then came college, and Bombay. No more mess food. No more hot dessert served after every meal. I realized no one was going to cook for me anymore. That’s when I truly discovered the magic of cooking and with it, the magic of freedom, love, creativity, and the way it grounds you.
I’d stand in the kitchen for hours, only to finish everything I made in a few minutes but those minutes felt absolutely worth it. I began with the basics, sticking to recipes exactly as written. Slowly, I started making my own concoctions. I was still shy about having anyone else taste my food but to me, I felt like the world’s best chef. And honestly, that feeling is what keeps calling me back into the kitchen.
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