Ive planted new seeds in my pot. Every day I check if they have sprouted. Anything green in the soil gives my heart a little leap. It feels very much like a 4-year-old in Nani’s kitchen. Nani had the art of making the mundane task of making roti's seem like magic. She would painstakingly explain everything as she made it. She kneaded the dough and explained the art; the changing colour of the flour, the way it turned from sticky to doughy. She even let me help. I put the full force of a 4year old in my task. We would let the dough rest, while I impatiently checked it every 2 mins. It’s very hard to understand rest and wait at that age. Finally came the time of her trusty Belan and the rolling of rotis commenced. I would insist with the confidence of a child to stand aside and let me make them. In the end my half-rolled maps would go to nanaji and I would get her perfect round ones. Nanaji would celebrate each shape and eat it like it was the best roti ever made. It’s a particularly happy memory. The first 5 years of my life Nani and Mumma were very different people from what they became later. Or maybe I grew up and saw them clearer. It’s a nice reminder of the good they had. Gardening is somehow gifting me the memories of these perfect messy happy moments as I wait for my plants to rise.
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