Those were the days when food was drenched in love
(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.