Namreh Matloob
Home was where I could go into my mother’s embrace;
In the tinge of the imli chutney that I make following my ammi’s recipe.
SPACE
My parents laughter, chats and bickering;
Mine is filled with baby giggles, chaos and love, I am someone’s home…
SPACE
Popped like a party popper and confetti…
It spread to all the different places
In comfort and idleness
SPACE
Carefully packed in my trousseau,
A bit of home in my new home…
In my abbu jaan’s warm embrace,
In the aroma of home cooked food.
Carefully packed in my trousseau,
SPACE
The aroma that transitions me back to my ammi’s kitchen;
The freeing aroma that now I use to envelope my loved ones in the same warm embrace.
SPACE
I try to replicate bits of my amma’s home/which was once mine.
SPACE
Sometimes I find it sewn in the embroidered cross stitch flowers of the dining sheet,
In the creases of the bed linen,
In the air trapped inside the puffy rotis.
Memories and moments, people
Like pieces found,
and some yet to be found…