“Mama, don’t come home from work before 4:50 PM,” Oishi texted me last Friday.
I texted back, “Okay,” and murmured to myself, “What is she up to now? Hope I will find the home in one piece.”
I came home when I was ordered to, but she did not allow me into the kitchen. Instead, I was ordered again to go to my bedroom upstairs.
After about half an hour, Oishi brought a plate full of delectable-looking and mouth-watering stuffed mushrooms. I was starving after the whole day, and the presentation was intensely appetizing. So, the plate was empty in seconds.
Embarrassed, I asked, “Why, mama?”
She simply shrugged and said, “Just wanted to make something special for you before going to Baba’s house.”
Oishi rarely cooks. Her cooking has been limited to heating soup and making omelet. Until recently, she was quite afraid of the stove. So I didn’t want her to cook on the stovetop when I was not around. Not only did she find a recipe which didn’t need a stove, only an oven, but she managed with whatever ingredients I had at home, and improvised and substituted some of them with her own ideas.
It was brilliant and delicious, but above all, it was a product of selfless love and thoughtfulness.