Lockdown Chef – All that greens is not mint

As the lockdown began,
two wooden doors welcomed me
into a territory that was quite unknown to me:
the hub of spices,
the battlefield of condiments
where they fight over
who should go first
into the simmering pot—
became somewhat familiar to me.

In a Bollywood movie,
Kabhi Khushie Kabhi Gram,
there is a scene
where the mother instinctively knows
of the arrival of her son
and she brings arti with her
to welcome him home -
I feel the same every time
I enter the kitchen now
The only difference is she knew it was her son
while I constantly have to ask from hubby,
Am I putting in coriander or mint?

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My Baccha

I still can't forget his fearful eyes
that dilate with pain,
counting every breath
through the slit of my bedroom curtain
 
Those strong, robust hands
that once moved the heavy furniture
during relocation-
now tremble at every second,
slowly checking my temperature,
waiting for me to doze off
so they get a chance to assess my condition
based on the heat of my thin, fragile body -
he adoringly calls mine
 
Each sweat counts
Every pulse matters.
 
Perhaps this self-professed physician
will never know how the rhythm of my heartbeat
produces a song only he can decipher,
that the cadence of words
are part of the lexicon that suggests life.

Life only he can breathe into me.

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