The morning rays stream in abundance through her kitchen window where she and her humble three burner stove stands. Her henna colored white hair glitters like gold, the untamed golden sun makes her lines and wrinkles even more visible. She leans forward for her almond shaped marble mortar and pestle, never placed an inch further from its designated place.
She pulls her spice drawer and picks out the glass jar, labelled 'elaichi' in indecipherable Hindi writing, not that she ever reads or requires labeling. But most treasured spices always got a glass jar and a label. The rest, found their fortune in plastic containers.
She pulls her spice drawer and picks out the glass jar, labelled 'elaichi' in indecipherable Hindi writing, not that she ever reads or requires labeling. But most treasured spices always got a glass jar and a label. The rest, found their fortune in plastic containers.