An Ode to Food

What a tragedy it is to have forgotten

The exquisite names of meals that had once

Rolled down my tongue, made my lips curl

Into a toothy grin, and how it had once made

My belly feel so full, I couldn’t care if my

Heart felt empty; these names seemed to have

Jumped off the edge of my brain- now all I

Know of food is rotis and curry, and dal, a

Little bit of dosa and idli; the menu of the

Chinese restaurant near my house, the fried

Delciousness can now only be found in the

Stains of my diary entries; and the utterly butterly

Punjabi paranthas that I could once eat

Four at a time, are such a distant memory;

The break up with that plate of momos, how

We once used to meet every day; there was once

Andhra pickle in my room, we had a date with

Rice and curd; once there was biryani with shahi

Paneer, we would just eat without saying a word;

Months back there was a home, the fridge always

Leaking with fruits, and cucumbers, and cheese

My favorite place in the house, it always had something

For me; how long has it been since we met

My dear gulab jamuns, and rasmalais, the kaju

Ki barfis with wedding cards, and the rasgulas

That were present all the time; there

Were once visits to nani’s house, and yes

She loves to feed- bhel puris and aloo chaats,

And her special bhindi; and now the loss of

Rajma being called 'razma', I could still deal with it

But they got the taste all wrong; There was once

A winter with nothing but green methi paranthas, 

mirchi ka aachaar, and malai;

but these days I eat only because

This woman needs to survive.

And ah, the whole world shall empathize

If by some tragedy I go deaf or dumb

But so few ever understand this loss

Of the taste-buds going numb.

P.s- When I called my mom up to recite this poem, she was eating a mango. What's a mango?