cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I am from a country of more than a billion people From Indian and Pakistani roots I am from a place of many hands and caregivers but no one to call Mom and Dad I am from spices, colorful saris, traditions focused on light From zesty smells of turmeric, ginger, and cardamom I am from…
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We moved over the weekend. This means, of course, that I do not know the location of my favorite brush, or the mustard.
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The desert has a distinct feel, one that makes each pore of your body gasp. I forget, as years pile up between visits, what this feeling is. It takes a couple of days to reacquaint myself with the arid mountains, weathered cacti, and unrelenting heat. But then, amidst misters and tank tops, I once again…
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“You are a strong woman, and you come from a long line of strong women.” It may not have been the answer my mother was looking for at that moment, standing in her kitchen in the December morning light, the ravages of a sleepless night on her face. My father had passed away less than…
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