Rice rice baby
Tracing the one single constant in my life
There are two things that I always carry with me whenever I move out of my hometown. Broadly.
One is a list of proverbs in Tamil that my mother and paternal grandmother have passed down to me, an inheritance as such. They remain tattooed in my mind. For instance, even when I was living in Bangalore and trying to practise basic Kannada phrases so I could travel by bus and buy a ticket without feeling weighed down, my mother’s choice Tamil proverbs kept popping in my head. One who is patient will eventually rule the world. Like blowing a conch shell into a dead man’s ears. Don’t enter the lake trusting a mud horse. I’d walk till my feet are worn out rather than talk till my lips are frayed.
The other is how to cook rice.