Our family kitchen has always held the title of my favorite place.

It has a lot of significance in my

life. For me, it is not just a room with appliances and utensils, its an emotion. From my earliest
memory, it’s heart has been my mother. She creates magic within its walls. In the mornings
mum is in the kitchen long before anyone in the family, turning simple ingredients into a treat.
Her secret ingredient being a dash of love that seasons her every dish. The worn-out apron
hanging on the hook, the cutting board scarred form years of use, the recipe book stained with
numberless meals and the countertops worn smooth with years of meals preparations, is a
testament to the incalculable hours my mother dedicates in the kitchen for our family.

The smell of her cooking is like my alarm clock. The sweet-smelling aromas, the tantalizing
aromas, fill and floats through the air, signaling the arrival of yet another one of mum’s delicious
creations. As I step into the kitchen, the comforting scent of freshly made rotis on the hot plate,
the crisp crackle of vegetables meeting hot wraps around me like a warm cozy blanket, giving
rise to a sense of safety and belonging. It seems all the sounds have come to a reunion when I
hear the rhythmic knocking of spoons on woks, the hissing of boiling kettle for masala chai, the
soft humming of the refrigerator, the inviting warmth of the oven and then gentle rustle of recipe
pages. Our family kitchen stirs up the senses with it’s aroma and interesting sounds.

Mum can make anything I want and even things I don’t know I want until I taste them. I never see
mum use a measuring tool. Just her hands, fork, and knife. She knows exactly what is needed.
She chops, dices, minces, mixes, mashes, and beats. She stirs, sprinkles, dashes, and pinches.
Each spice jars a treasure chest unlocking comforting aroma. My absolute favorite being
Cumin’s earthy embrace and cinnamon’s sweet touch. Gratitude swirls like steam from a
flavorful pot as an ordinary day is made extraordinary by the hands that raised me – my mothers.
It’s more than just a room with appliances and utensils. It has been, and I hope will always be,
the state where my mum is the magician.