The last three times I made Dal I realised a problem. It was too bland, and the more I tried to play around with the flavours, I could not understand why it still lacked colour. Food was meant to be served. Edible food. Something that was homemade and served on time. Who cares for that dal tadka I craved?

Now, it’s a good run to get the right kind of flavours even with my favourite dishes. The game of ingredients over likings, and daily menu chaos over fancies for world cuisine took over my life in no time. And I taunted my mother how she has changed as a cook. She would laugh at it (like she does over all my weird taunts). Can I laugh on what has happened to me now? But, I know how to nail a good salad in minutes. My survival techniques in the kitchen too.

There is so much I see around. Mums doing videos of what their kids are eating (I can’t, in spite of being at home all the TIME). Beautiful reels of native cooking. I can’t. Why would be a good question. Why, do I find hitting on the sofa with nothing more to do is ever so relaxing?

I’m busy looking for creative things we (I and my kids) can do for an hour or two during the day. The actually creative process is even more tiring. But the end result? Oh. Even if we have something basic to eat, I love the painting we try to do. Or the book we try to read. Or just exploring something about the planet.

I do want to talk about food people I meet around. But even those transcribed notes get lost in notebooks I don’t remember where exactly I arranged while cleaning up the toy-laden flat of ours.

What do I want in life? Nothing much as of now. I want to start making more cookies with my kids. More cake. More cold coffee. And in-between all of this, I want to balance it with bajri or Dal khichdi. Add a dash of pancakes and laadi pavs. Make a good ‘busy bag’ for my kids and just get lost in the streets of the city or a nearby lush hilly villages in the country. That’s my sukoon. And oh. Don’t miss on those midnight sneak-outs in the kitchen. That bag of crispy corn chevda. Aha.

No more do I have the energy to watch interesting food videos. I want to look for veggies beyond aloo at the grocery store. How to hydrate my little girl? She hardly has any water during the day. That’s the topic that doing the rounds in my mind. May be a fancy straw or a coloured plastic bottle can do the trick? Who knows.

For the past four years, I have been settling in cities and then unsettling and settling again. What a storm. With two kids. Sometimes I’m focussed in the kitchen, the other times I struggle to make a basic meal. I have help, but I just want to embrace this city for now. Want to enjoy a good pause. In one place. Where there is no uncertainty. Just a mundane routine. For years or even decades.

Yes, I’m forgetting how to write (the tiny bit that I knew). I find myself anxious throughout the night. Drained before dinner times hit. But, somehow, with magic (thanks to the serious talks I have with the little people at home), I find hope. I find hope even in that school tiffin dabba with a sukhi sabzi and roti.

And here’s what I want to do. Think of ways in which we can sit and learn new words together. And how can i let my children explore this world and find beauty. Constantly. So, what if I can’t find it myself sometimes. I was never this kind of a person, but whatever. We got to find it. So, yeah. Fine dining do I crave? No. Just basic food that has been made well. Don’t get me started on my love for thandi roti and achar/pickle, a roasted slice of white bread with a homemade jam, and khari (a Parsi bakery find) with chai. And while I enjoy a meal, my kids should enjoy a good view. Hills, beaches, hammocks, you name it. Will that be part of the deal? Only then can we talk about good food!