Step one: ghee melts over a medium stove flame.
Fried onions, clinking bangles around my wrists,
A confetti of methi enhance and dance.
Red chilli jingles bhangra with wild ginger,
Peas and sweetcorn glisten like bindis.
Diced paneer claps with jeera,
Crystal sea salt keeps a sharp lookout,
Garam masala heats up the frying pan,
The cheerful fragrant coriander, living it up!
A dollop of spiced ingredients walloped together.
Step two: soft creamy sheets of pastry,
Firm wrapped saris, rock ‘n’ roll.
Tinted with a hint of mint, ready to stroll.
My skillful hands prepare and lift in humble pride.
Step three: shallow-fried, gold-plated then dried.
Lingering flavours, tingling noses,
Stomachs yearn as a crowd awaits…
Joyous smiles, a satisfied appetite.
I feel like Mother India with a secret recipe, home-made.
Shhhush… a secret is best kept close to my heart!
By Nirmal Orjally
Nirmal says that identity is closely linked with culture and what we wear and eat. She writes a poem about food and shows how close our identity is made up of what we cook and eat. This poem is published in Blakenhall Writers Anthology 2016. Nirmal has been member of Blakenhall Writers Group in Wolverhampton (UK) for over 8 years.