Long before I dreamt of having a blog, I wanted to have a compiled space for the massive spread Maa makes at home. Food is such a highlight that all I can think of while heading for vacation is the list of items I am gonna eat. Skipping meal is something my parents have never understood. You could be dieting, you could be fighting, you could be in a major office call but you cannot, just cannot skip meal at any cost. All the pictures here are the usual preparation. No birthdays, no guest over, no special occasion. Goes on to say how big a foodie my parents are, even without realising it.

Fish is a regular at home. And no, the same fish cannot be repeated. Lunch and dinner must be different varieties and dad just wouldn’t get less than a kilo. Somehow that idea embarrasses him. So, there’s masala curries, there one with raw mustard paste, and almost four varieties of khatta (lemon, tomato, dried mangoes, tamarind). Plus of course paturi and the drier items more of a kassa. It’s never just one curry. Curries at home is a never ending list. Maa could be making a new item every day and it would take months before one is repeated. And it’s never without greens. Saag, karela or some other fries with pickles and papad are so regular, they aren’t even counted. Maa could easily be a top instagrammer but put so many items in different katori and take pictures till you get perfect shots? Nope, ain’t gonna happen.

Maa is a master of her kitchen. A masala or two gets over, she wouldn’t bother us to get it. She scoops out the exact same taste even with half the ingredients missing. Also, I think only moms can put water to gravy and leave it unattended fully to the end moment when they come to switch off gas. I could never do that. I must be there to monitor the rate of gravy water evaporation at every point else expect something entirely different than I set out to make. Oriya curries are an in-between of broth and thick gravies gravitating more towards the broth. Very less on masala, very less on oil yet just so soul stirring. And she probably makes it with just one tablespoon oil. No wonder we have fish at home every single day and don’t get enough of it.

Rourkela is on a different time zone altogether. While everything outside this sphere is fast changing in a glimpse. Here, weekends are always the same early morning stroll to mutton shop to get the freshest and meatiest meat. Always the evening bells of panipuri wala, the tiny jingles of evening arti, the excess of samosa, pakoda, aloo chat and panipuri and Pinki’s favourite chai to go along with it. And with that, we sit down for Ludo. Maa gets real competitive. Dad throws unnecessary sixes all the time. And if you aren’t eyeing Mom’s every move then she is definitely cheating. Always at the top of her game, fuming, planning moves. Cut throat game, hours sitting together, this easily is my favourite time of the day. Oh yes and my little town still sells samosa for Rs 3. No kidding 🙂

Dad gets this huge rush when we kids are back in town. There’s no stopping the old man. Neither is any limit to the variety of food he brings home. Mapula, chilli chicken, chicken pakoda, samosa you name it. Also expect most days for the fishes to come home live. He likes to put them in water and watch us play with the being till we decide to eat it. Maa has to put up with all this coz frankly scaling fish ain’t an easy task. But I guess she likes to see him this excited and pumped up. I aint lying when I tell you I eat 8 times a day at home. Twice lunch and twice dinner, always. That’s four times right there. Dad’s happy his lil girl still eats with him. Truth be told, I just don’t get enough of it. I am always hungry, always eating to the point that I cannot get up immediately after lunch or breathe properly the first few minutes. I probably stuff myself for the entire year.

Conversations at home are a riot. Dad cannot eat without putting a little of his food to Maa’s plate and of course she doesn’t appreciate it and returns back. Double the amount, every single time. And then starts their mathematical weight and analysing the amounts each one has transferred. I being the moderator gets to have the final say. And it usually goes to the one who bribes me more. Dads bribing is waste, he probably owes me 5k by now. The other time Maa and dad got on huge a fight for naming a dog. Rourkela stray dogs be pretty chill like they know whose house to visit on whose days. Not one dog is ever seen in our garden on a Thursday. So once there was no curry left with rice, so dad requested an omelette be made for the dog coz of course if you can’t eat just rice how could the dog. Mom complied. And somewhere in between they realised Maa calls the dog lalu while dad calls it Kalu. Dad insisted it be called Kalu. Since he was black, it be easy to remember. Maa’s comeback was, “Would u like it if I call u Kalu coz you’re dark? Hence lalu stays”. Ouch! that hurt the man real bad. No logic could surpass the comparison Maa just made. Even though all she did was put a reasonable example, of course all he heard was being compared to a dog. We were laughing our ass off. They are tom and jerry in real life . 😂😂 These people! 😂

These stories and memories are everything. There’s nothing like home. There’s nothing like home food. No wonder, at the start of each year we scan our holidays and bookmark the days we could head home. I know Mother’s Day happened couple of days back, but this little tribute is for both of them ❤

Happy Eating!!
Waves ‘n’ Curves