My wok heats up and I take out some mustard seeds. My cumin seeds are already ready in the cover of their container.
I see tiny bubbles in my hot oil, my instinct precise.
I add mustard seeds and cumin seeds to the oil and wait with baited breath.
"Mee maja harapun basle ga.." Asha-taai's melodious voice fills my kitchen.
I add hing, the smell telling me my tadka is going to be a success. I sing-along to Asha-tai, my head nodding to the beautiful words.
I never knew when I got transformed into a cook.
I know it was the pandemic that closed all doors suddenly one day and one has to eat. While most people resort to their trusted formulations that at times fend off days, I cooked fresh food thrice a day.
What I didn't predict for myself was my instinct, my knack of taste and my balance of heat.
Yes, I am a chemical engineer. I understand how it's all a play of heat transfer and mass transfer while carefully balancing flow and pressure.
It's as if my equations float around in the air invisible to other but quite vividly to me. It makes sense you know, and it's just like drawing perfect circles or a neat square with its shapely orthogonal finishes.
The smells, the taste, the heat, the stroke of my ladle on my wok.. seems just like poetry to me..
Something that's meant to happen so naturally..
"Mee maja harpun basle ga.."
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