The smell of freshly made dhal rotis, drenched in ghee. So utterly delicious on the tongue, spicy, salty, buttery. Perfect on their own or dipped in yoghurt.
Your demeanour was always kind. Pink cheeked and glad-faced, you would always mutter under your breath “Allah tera shukr hai” (Allah to You is all thanks). Generous with laughs, smiles and kind words. Generous with time and money. You always were ready to give more- make a gourmet sandwich for your cleaning assistant, give extra cash. I seldom heard you complain. You always made mention of Allah’s numerous blessings He has given you. I couldn’t wait to taste some of your aloo gosht with paratha. I loved your cooking. But I have now lost you.
I have lost the peacefulness of your home, a place of serenity and happiness. So different from the home in which I was raised. I have lost sunny mornings in your expansive garden, with the backdrop of the rolling hills and the sounds of chickens and goats in the distance. You took me into your home as your daughter. You never were unkind or cruel to me, despite me being different from your cultural expectations in every way. You were all the family I really knew in the USA, for a decade. I am grateful that you will always remain my son’s grandparents, but I have lost you all.