Those were the
days when food was drenched in love
By
P.R.Ramachander
(Based on a tamil post by my friend Sri Rajagopal srinivasan
,My thanks to him as mind
went sixty years back.)
Those were the days
when our mother,
After taking bath
early in the morning ,
Cooked the rice in
fire wood stove ,
With the wood turning to embers and smoke.
With her eyes burning
she used to put her ladle ,
In the blackened
vessel , when water in it boils
up and down,
To see whether
the rice has boiled properly
and then ,
Tie the vessel
with a cloth and turn it so that
the thickened water is strained.
When that
nectar of cooked rice
with steam coming out,
Is put on the
banana leaf, the sweet smell coming out
of that,
Would induce
you not to wait even for a minute ,
And make you
gobble that rice up, as if it
was nectar and honey.
Those days the love and hard labour of the mother
Made our food in to nectar as there was no pride but love in it.
But today , there is no stove and the food that we eat is cooked in pride
And we gobble it
up not bothered about its taste and run.
Run to the office or school , to toil like machines
,
In this world of
loveless robots and to show
others ,
That we are great , we keep on swallowing the poisons ,
Called Pizza and
burger, which make our mind and body sick.
When we are
lying in the sick bed we think of our
mother,
Who tucked her neat sari in her waist , ground the masalas
in flat and round stones,
Put that mixture in our dishes at proper time , added the just needed salt,
Examined whether everything is properly cooked and served to us with concern.
But today the busy
home makers buy ready ground Masalas,
Cook in non stick vessel , decide that food is ready by the number of whistles heard,
And ask every
one to gobble up
the so called food with love
missing,
With taste missing , with health missing , leading us all
to sick beds.
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