Ipsita Contemplates

The Language of Food : <German Edition> If I have to find a beginning to the story, I would say it started with the chicken croquettes. It is French but food (and words) evade boundaries, and sometimes dimensions. Those six golden pieces of croquettes provided a much needed sense of familiarity on that particular day. That was the beginning or day zero of my German classes. Why did I choose croquettes? Because the language that I had learned last was French. It might not make sense, but that’s how I operate. And I, for some reason, tried to take a peek on the memory lane from those days. I don’t know if we can call it a walk down memory lane, but it definitely sprinkled bits and pieces of nostalgic moments from the days when I was learning French. With each bite of the croquettes, its crunch invoked the memory of the page-long essays that I wrote based on the different aspects of the French cities, and the soft chicken and cheesy insides brought back a sense of comfort/familia...

It was almost twilight. The rains had slowed down a bit by then. I was jostled with apprehensions and was juggling myriads of thoughts and emotions until I reached the cottage hotel. On reaching the hotel, the host and his team welcomed us with the warmest of smiles, some amazing home-baked cookies, and a comforting cup of hot Kashmiri Qahwa . The warm reception by the team and the steaming cup of Qahwa melted all my apprehensions and worries. That was the first food that welcomed me to Kashmir. And what a beginning it was! Splendid, in every sense! In true way, it set the tone for the rest of my stay in the valley. After the quick snack, we retreated to our room. After an hour or so, one of the staff members came to ask for our choice for dinner. There was no menu to choose from, just like we do not have in our homes. We could request for anything as long as the requisite grocery is available in the kitchen pantry. On further discussions, we got to know that Kashmiri rajma (kidney...