Waiting for Curry
Each strand of the basmati was long and thin. Nani sprinkled some salt, ruby pomegranates and coriander. Finally, she squeezed a lemon over it and the rice was the most fragrant dish I had ever known. “Kadhi ke liye toh ruk.” Wait till you taste the curry. But all my attention was on the rice.
When I rubbed the grains between my fingers, a starchy web formed.
“Chakh le,” she probed. So I tried it, and it was more delicate than any other rice, as though each grain had been individually boiled in a special cooker the size of a fingernail. I smiled at the thought of a thousand tiny pressure cookers lining the counters of my grandmother’s kitchen.
Ma entered, elated to see her 7-year-old daughter taking an interest in cooking. She had worn her hair different, braided, with coconut oil keeping the stray strands in place. I was irritated that she had not braided my hair under the white tube light in the guest bedroom. I wanted her fingers on my scalp, smoothening the knots in my black strands. Here, in Nani’s house in India, she wouldn’t hug me the way she did in California. In India, she wore long “kurtas” — loose collarless tunics — the hollows under her eyes dark, scalp always smelling of coconuts and her skin of sweat. She asked me to help in the kitchen, and in the evenings, to play cricket with my cousins.
Ma announced to Nani, “Lawyer’s papers are in. We’ll ship the last boxes here soon.”
“What paper?” I asked, accusingly. I could sense that Ma was hiding from me, always texting on her phone in the dark when the lights were out. Pa had also disappeared during the vacation, without saying goodbye. My heart ached for him, the familiar woody cologne on my shirt after he hugged me, his mustache against my cheek.
“Nothing. Wash the other lemon.”
Sulking, I turned my back to them as they moved to the living room, talking in hushed voices. My heart beat fast as I strained to eavesdrop. Under the faucet, a strong lemon scent released into the summer air thick with humidity. I rubbed at the slimy peel that gave way to a roughness.
They returned to the kitchen with the “chum-chum” of Nani’s anklets in every footstep. “Can I eat the rice?”
“Curry isn’t ready,” Nani said.
I hovered, inhaling the rice aroma that was slowly disappearing into the room. It was the longest wait, the curry bubbling to my side, hot droplets flying towards the ceiling spotted with brown stains. I turned to see Ma’s fallen face, wet streaks marking her brown cheeks.
“Kha le,” Nani said tenderly. Go eat.
Ma bent down to wrap her arms around me, squeezing tight, spreading her warmth over my back.
I put the rice in my mouth, the acidity blending with juicy pomegranates, coconut flakes in the curry, tangy “kokam” spice and a soft bark of cinnamon. Eyes closed, my tongue warm and a little sweet.
Introducing the Winner
Tania Apshankar (Tanaayaa), a senior majoring in creative writing, grew up in India and California. Hours spent helping her grandmother prepare food in her kitchen in India inspired her winning entry, “Waiting for Curry.”
Apshankar’s interest in learning languages blossomed when she took her first Spanish class during her freshman year at USC Dornsife. She now speaks four languages and is currently learning a fifth.
Her love of languages also inspired her to help start Trojan Bloom, USC’s only multilingual journal. Launched in Spring 2022 and featuring undergraduates’ writing in 15+ languages, it is published online by USC Dornsife’s Center for Languages and Cultures. Apshankar serves as editor-in-chief.
A strong believer in giving back, Apshankar joined the Joint Educational Project (JEP) as a tutor in its ReadersPlus literacy program in her first semester at USC Dornsife. She now supervises a team of tutors at Vermont Avenue Elementary, a member of the USC Family of Schools served by JEP.
Apshankar says her goals are to write and to increase access for aspiring writers in under-resourced spaces. —S.B.