aryan winterson - wanderer { wip.

• He misses daal. 
• Not just any daal though, but the kind that his mother used to make: split beans tenderly bubbled in a clay pot for hours on end with onions, tomatoes, five-spice mix, and love—ladlefuls and ladlefuls of her love. It’s a recipe he has tried to recreate from time and time again, but all his attempts never turn out as delicious as hers, never as enriching. Maybe it has to do something with the fact that daal used to fill his stomach puffy when they only could afford one meal per day. One bowl was all he needed back then, but now he would empty out ten if his mother cooked it.
• She never kept him hungry. Even on days where the wolf was at their rickety door and the only coins they saw were in the hands of others, Anjali made sure her child was well-fed or nourished as best as she could. They had a plot of land behind their small house, one she used to grow carrots and herbs in, and every time he sees tiny gardens now, he is remembered of his mother’s fingers in the dirt, the sweat on her bent neck, and how she dug. Dug to feed her son, and dug to feed herself.