Being a homemaker, I always saw my mom working in the kitchen,
Even if sick, she was on a mission.
To serve hand cooked food
To her family was her only priority,
Cooking everyone’s favourite,
She stood hours on her feet.
From peeling vegetables to choosing the right condiments,
Kneading the perfect dough,
Preparing most delectable pickles.
I hardly remember if she ever
Prepared dish of her choice,
She ate what we ate, without any complaints she rejoiced.
When we burped with satiated stomach and smiling souls,
Her heart filled with contentment to ten folds.
As I sit on the kitchen shelf in my maayeka now,
My ‘Masterchef mom’s’ wrinkly hands still put together my favoured dish
The same way and in gratitude I bow.-Shweta Gupta