I met textile technologist and fashionista Anjali Khemani in Bombay through common friends in college. We had a blast during the 2018 Black Friday Sale in New York City together, but it wasn’t until I visited her in Providence, Rhode Island during a trip to Boston that we really connected. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve shared laughs and margaritas a-plenty. But it was the first time I stepped into her home, shared life stories and experiences and realized how much we have in common. 

I moved to the US in 2015, at the age of 20. When I found out about my admission into my desired University, I had around 5 months to prepare for the big move. During that time, my worried mother asked me to stand with her in the kitchen to watch and attempt to cook a few dishes. She was worried that I would rely on Maggi instant noodles and frozen bags of food to survive. I, on the other hand, had other plans – Food trucks, Pizzas, the Perfect American Cheeseburgers and Fries. Needless to say, her concern and screaming went to deaf ears. I was more focused on important things such as making friends and looking my best for my new life-changing experience.

Looking Back

My mother had packaged and sent me away with air-sealed bags of pre-cooked parathas (stuffed, flakey flatbread) and aachar (mango pickle) the day I was leaving. When I landed in the US, everything was so hazy. I immediately reached for the bag of parathas, an air-sealed bag of comfort. That is the only thing I ate, three times a day for a whole month. I was upset and homesick. The parathas brought me so much joy and a sense of grounding in a life that I had just uprooted.

My dream of pizza and cheeseburgers were shattered, everything felt tasteless no matter what I ate. I even thought about becoming ‘that Indian girl’ who carries sriracha in her purse wherever she goes. But I could NOT live like that. This lifestyle meant that I had gained weight, was always broke from eating out and was not enjoying food the way I used to. It was time, that I attempted to cook. It was a difficult transition, one that is still ongoing. I had to learn a lot about food. But here’s the thing: the food you cook with your sweat and blood always seems worthy to you, even if it tastes like paper. It had been 2 years of living away from home, and my mother decided to visit her struggling daughter.

In December of 2017, my mother visited me in my cramped student apartment, stocked with Dollar Store plastic cutlery, mismatched crockery and blunt kitchen tools. From the moment she landed to the moment she left, I didn’t enter the kitchen. Walk into the kitchen when the world’s best chef was in front of me? Would you want to cook if Gordon Ramsey was in your kitchen? 

Looking Ahead

That whole month was a delight. She cooked, and for the first time, I watched. I observed, I questioned, and I took notes sporadically as she threw in spices and worked her ‘mom-magic’. My relationship with food has been transformed since I first moved. I’ve learned to cook, not just Indian food but also other cuisines. I fill my little black book every time I find a recipe worthy enough. Sure, it’s covered in turmeric stains and the pages are falling out, but it’s mine. It speaks of my journey with food. It reminds me of my mother. And, it gives me hope knowing I will not be ‘that Indian girl’ who carries sriracha in her purse wherever she goes.

Written by Anjali Khemani and edited by Jashan Sippy.

‘Food, the Feeling of Home’: A series of stories exploring nostalgia, the power of food, our memories and stories of ‘home’. Want to share your story? Send it to us at info@sugarandspace.in