January 29, 2013

Julie & Julia

When she was younger, she hadn't wanted to hear about cooking.
To acknowledge the titbits of information about food,
that her mother kept passing on to her, apropos of nothing,
would be to acknowledge that she wanted to model herself on her mother,
which at fifteen or sixteen or even at twelve, she most certainly did not.
She had spent her adolescence resisting her mother, not to spite her,
but just to establish that she was different.

Despite all that, when she cooked now, it would be the same way
like her mother did, and it tasted exactly the same.
After all, it seemed so obvious.
So she had been listening after all, it had all come back to her.




3 comments:

  1. Ironical, how we grow up resisting our mothers, and ultimately becoming them, and then finding peace in it. I can see it happen in me..As ever, for the lack of a better superlative, wow!

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  2. Since I lost my mother, I feel closest to her when I am cooking the dishes she used to cook, using her recipes.Memories come rushing in, familiar scents, a swish of her dupatta here, a swipe of her hand across the forehead to admonish the straying wisp of hair, and as I stir away over the stove, she and I converse in silence punctuated with half-smiles and unshed tears.

    I digress. :) Apologies. What you wrote was perfect.And so true that it gave me goosebumps.

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  3. "...but just to establish that she was different..."....and I don't know why I do that all the time!:P

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