Chapatis

Baba had a dream about Ma. She was making chapatis and grumbling about how many she had to make. Such an ordinary dream and yet so much of her life went in making chapatis. And grumbling about them. That is a fact. When I was threatening to quit my PhD she reminded me of the chapati making fate. Today when I work long hours I have to silently thank her and curse her for somedays I’d rather be making chapatis. 

This past Sunday was Mother’s Day. My son asked me for parathas. I was reluctant. Last few times I attempted parathas or chapatis they were disastrous. My mother had the proverbial 10,000 hours making chapatis. I may have had 10. How could I begin now?

But I did it anyway. Made them for him. They turned out wonderful! Soft and fluffy dough. Light chapatis that inflated beautifully on the stove. I told Arhan about the stories my mother would tell me when she made them. Sometimes she would ask which map I wanted? Sometimes she would ask me to guess if we would get a "football" - a perfectly inflated chapati. They wouldn’t all inflate perfectly so it was a random chance. I strangely felt at peace while rolling out that dough with my son prancing around next to me. The chapatis came out beautifully.