I got the call over the weekend. The one that every immigrant is terrified to receive. Mom is not feeling well. She is experiencing terrible abdominal pains and had to be admitted to hospital. My sister has flown down to Mumbai from Bangalore to be with her. I must stay ready to come down if the situation worsens. A certain feeling of helplessness and fear takes over. I wish I could be there right now more than anything, so I could help with the care process. However given the state of the pandemic, the need for quarantine after travel and the limited space in our two bedroom Mumbai apartment, I would only be more of a burden than a solution as of now. This is the scourge of the immigrant. When you choose to be an immigrant, you choose to always be an outsider. There isn’t a true home for you anymore. You no longer belong in the country of your birth, but you don’t really belong in the new country you have chosen. You really don’t truly belong anymore. Perhaps this was what led me to b
"Like this only" loosely translates to "It's just the way it is". This blog is my love letter to the country of my birth. It's the story of Indian eats captured through the eyes of a chef who misses home dearly. These are stories of the food I grew up with, the food that takes me back in time to the place that once was my home.