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“What are you having for breakfast? “

“ Chapatis, Parathas and some spicy vegetables...”

“Go deeper, my love...” I always ask him for more specificity when describing feelings, acting as my senses for what I cannot percieve directly.


“ No, you tell me, what are you having?”. His pleasure is listining to my voice

“ I am baking croissants”. When we met last time ( in London ) he was craving for croissants.

“Can you hear this?”I continue.

“Yes...”. It is terribly noisy on his side of the phone.

It is 11 in the morning in Delhi: the traffic, a song playing loudly and the neighbours renewating their house.


6.30 in Dublin. Saturday morning; I live in the countryside. No evidence of any human actions, I can percieve the life in my garden. 

“My rolling pin crumbling almonds...”

He is about to say something. The croissants, in London. He wanted the ones with almonds..

.“ put on top of them , with a glaze...”

 “You ar too good”

“Shall I tell you what I smell?”

“Oh, yes, please...”

“It smells like intimacy, familiarity. It is smooth. First comes the sourish of the egg and immediately after the sweetness of the sugar and the butter, burning. The purity of the bread dough raising underlies and substains” 

“Will you share a cup of tea with me?” 

“You are the steam out of every tea during my day” 

I grew in a place where food mattered. There were rules to be respected and a well shaped “ritual”.The kitchen used to be the core of the house, its magic,alchemic center. Every discussion or problem used to be analised from a different point of view, there. 

Having my meals alone most of the days in a year I had to find the way to share it with my beloved ones. And I have found that this stimulates my fantasy more than I could immagine.

It is not lost. Not at all.The discussions about what we are going to have for the next meal, the meticulous choice, the fantasy of associating...I keep them alive.In a kind of profane religion. A kind of communication wich turns on every senses and goes deep inside. Where memories and dreams lie.I am realizing that there is an amazing variety of ways people keep intouch and communicate their feelings.

This is mine

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vikash.kumar1's picture
vikash.kumar1's picture