You know the one thing that I do
most during Ramadan? I dream up all the
foods that I want to eat and plan to eat after breaking. I mean seriously it’s like food porn. I will go through the internet looking for
recipes, slightly drool over glossy pictures of luscious cakes or spicy nibbles
and plot. There is a lot of plotting
going on I assure you. I will make up
grocery lists and before getting home stop by to snag all the ingredients. Last year I believe I never actually made it
as far as the cooking stage of those foods.
On occasion yes but for the most part I would get inside, see my couch
and flop down onto it almost unconscious.
This year seems a bit
different. I’m cooking. Let’s stop right there and take a moment to
ponder what I just wrote. I AM
COOKING. A few can argue that for me the
act itself is not unusual but I can assure you during this month it is. I may dream about all the yummilicious things
I will make as soon as I get home but my laziness often throws a dark shadow
over all the good intentions. Only
rarely have I been reduced to chopping onions manically, boiling and sautéing potatoes
or mixing flour with water to make something or another a half hour before
iftar. That’s pure desperation. This year I willingly go to the kitchen...huh…weird.
Day 7 I decided to take some time
out for myself. After working for a
short bit, I was home debating what I wanted to eat for iftar. Yes it was but 11am and I was already
wondering feverishly at my options. Tempted
to sleep but not wanting to let the day go to waste, I hopped into a fairly
steaming hot leathered interior Stella in order to make my way (a 25 minute
drive) to a Pakistani boutique where gorgeous dresses are sold. Check out my handy dandy sketch in case you
didn’t know what a Salwar Kameez is *smiles and pats self on back*.
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I found nothing, less than
nothing in fact. Oh no, I’m wrong. What I managed to procure was a great big
headache. Not only was it blazing hot
outside, enough so that I was left panting, but also the act of taking off and
putting on and taking off once more and putting on yet again a few outfits was
just simply too much. Within minutes I
lost interest as I listlessly gazed at the varied amounts of lovely creations
that may have suited me but I did not wish to find out for sure since it meant
more activity than necessary. Within an
hour I left with nada to show for all that effort other than the
dizziness.
Stopping off at the Bangladeshi grocery
store (and may I repeat how bad an idea it is to do this) I chit-chatted with
the owners younger brother (while I was busy eyeing all the beautiful food
about me) who was bemoaning to me about the lack of jobs here in the USA and
then professed that his family was trying to set him up (think arranged
marriage) but that there was no chemistry between him and the girl in
question. I gave him the only sage
advice I could. I said: don’t get married then. With that I thanked him and left.
Sigh, I wish I was that
abrupt. I’m not. I actually listened to him with as much thoughtfulness
as could be muster under the circumstances, then told him to not rush into
marriage, it’s a long life commitment and yada yada yada. To be honest, considering how wiped out I
was, I didn’t do such a bad job of offering up sage advice. Off I went home feeling just a smidge good
about myself.
Once home I started to cook,
again. Yes, more cooking and I didn’t
even mind. The other day I had made
samosas by the dozen for my party. I
actually believe in Bangladesh they are known as shingara’s while samosas are
smaller wrapped in the same stuff that egg rolls are and often filled with
meats. I had a hankering for them and
besides I had some ground chicken left over from the patties so there I was
preparing them in anticipation of sinking my teeth into the triangular golden crispy
scrumptiousness. Along with them I prepared Broust. What’s that?
Basically desi version of spicy tangy fried chicken and darn it I’m drooling
again just recalling L
… I also made saag (spinach) so that P gets his daily intake of greens. The day before I had made curried eggs so there
were left overs. All in all the food was
varying and I wasn’t totally unhappy with the options. In fact I was pleased enough that I told N to
come over.
Only bummer was that Abbu called
and said he was canceling music class, which made me do a mental jig since I
was unsure as to how to sing while half starved, but the really bigger ‘bummer’
part came in when Ammu called me a little while after that and told me that she
had cooked scads of food for me, P and my cousin N for Iftar and had planned to
send it with dad. :\
Boo.
N joined me and P to break fast
and afterwards we, she and I, went to the local coffee place, sat outside and
chatted. It surely was nice to catch up
with her, watch others laugh, eat, joke and socialize like normal folks. I can tell you that for me, it’s hard to feel
as if I’m truly apart of society during this time. I am not exaggerating one bit when I say I
turn into a veritable hermit. I do. I have no interest in interacting with other
humans particularly because my temper is short (see, a spiritual aspect of this
month that I have yet to master) and my fuse is even shorter. So in order to retain a bit of the
spirituality of it all, I stay away from too much of anything which involves
other human beings. So? Sue me.
This only applies of course
through fasting hours. Afterwards, once
the energy level in my body slowly increases the feeling of dehydration
decreases and I’m once more able to smile, the thought of rejoining society is
downright pleasant. Last year N and I
took to going to this coffee shop, quickly turning it into one of our more
favorite escapes. This was our first
opportunity to revive the habit from last year and it indeed was pleasant as we
procured chamomile tea, our favorite cookies (a toffee chocolate mocha
something or another that’s pure sticky sweet nirvana) and snagged seats
outside. And it was so nice to sit
there, breathe deeply, sip that mild hot brew and feel my body go nearly
boneless.
I glanced up and saw the moon and
smiled. Okay, bring on the next day, I thought mentally stealing myself. I’m
ready.
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