By Vishal Talreja
In a disturbed early morning slumber
A brewing desire
Then it came
Nostalgia
It’s sweet fragrance
Wafting into my senses
The pleasure of pain
From a time in childhood
My senses beckoned me
I sought it out today
The familiar taste
Yum, lemon rice it was
Just crisped onions
Almost fried peanuts
Sweet tingling lime
Simmered in a yellowed rice
Ah! The lemon rice from my childhood
It was a Sunday ritual
From our favourite joint
It had no name
Like most good places
Just known by its owner
Ranganna, he was
A balding, paunchy man
With a busy smile
A packet of the glorious yellow
With a stingy sprinkling
Of spicy chutney
Sunday morning suddenly made perfect
Most times it was dad
Who made the trip,
On his rickety Bajaj
Sometimes, inviting me to join
We would never have a full packet
For we had to share,
Learnt to share
Knowing to stay within our means
Sometimes mom sneaking her share
Onto our emptying plate
While we savoured every bite
Of the delicious Lemon Rice
It was that kind of memory today
While I got the lemon rice
The experience of family
On a Sunday morning
Sharing the ritual
Was sorely missing
Each could have a packet full
And more
Yet, I sat there alone
Eating my fill, amongst strangers
Wishing, pleading, seeking
My childhood to come back
Just for a moment
Just for a moment
Fret and fume, once more
That I had to share
Yet find joy
In the sharing
A silent prayer
Gratitude
To my father
For this childhood memory
A memory
That rekindles Nostalgia
Known only to someone
That still seeks.