The call every Immigrant dreads

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 be a chef. Through my food, I connect with where I came from Through my food, I keep my heritage alive. Through my food, I feel a sense of belonging.

At a time like this, what would I cook for Mom. I think about one of my favorite soups when I am under the weather. Ginger Cilantro Chicken Soup. Due to her gastro intestinal issues, Mom can’t handle much spice at this time.This soup is mild but flavorful and full of healing goodness. The chicken has to be bone-in, to coax out the collagen and gelatin making it truly food for the soul. If I could be in India right now, this is what I would cook for her. I know it will make her feel better.

But till that happens, I will have no choice but to stand by and wait with fingers crossed, praying for good news around the corner. I don’t believe there could be any greater reminder of how truly fleeting the moments actually are.

They say hope is not good strategy, but it’s the only one I got for now.

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