Everytime I visit a restaurant
and the smell of the food
hits me
I get lost in time
when I used to come home
all sweaty from playing with friends
and you had snacks prepared for me,
when I threw tantrums
related to food
and you always
cooked for me,
even if it was 2 in the morning.
You sacrificed your own needs
to feed me
my favourite dishes.
Every sunday
you filled my stomach
with your best dishes
and loads of love.
Since I have come to this city,
afar from you
whenever I get near food,
not only I miss the food
which magically appeared out of your hands,
but my stomach also misses you.
Even the excess oil on chappatis seems nice now.
Because nothing can beat the taste of your mothers’ food.
Everytime I visit a restaurant
and the smell of the food
hits me
I miss the magic of your hands.