Resonant with warm richness of garam masala
The smell of hot fresh buttered roti
The soft fragrant haze of sandalwood incense
The deep yellow earthiness of haldi

Resonant with the soft singing of my mother
Her chunni gracing and draping her head
Framing her gray hair like a portrait
Her hands deftly flipping tragedy, wounds and scars into life giving rounds of Mana

At her altar, my mother, like a priestess consecrating the space
Declaring this experience, this life, this body, this mind, this day
Sacred and holy in all its depths of tragedy and love.

“Kao” she said

Eat.

But eating was simply the medium in which this ritual took place
What we were partaking in was the holy rite of the ancients
The holy ritual of healing
We were being revived
Brought back to life
By ancient mother spirits

Like a mother’s hand passing over her child’s head in prayer
In this moment, protection
In this moment, healing
In this moment, acknowledgement of the pain
Both ancient and present
The tears of our foremothers sweetening our water
So that we may drink and be restored

We pray
We eat
We cleanse
We release
We complete the enigmatic practice of turning pain into love.

We cry tears of joy
The salve on our wounds
Is in the salt of our food
Is in the quench of our thirst
Is in the blood of our mothers

Their very souls feeding us
Breaking off pieces of themselves
Turning their very bodies into nourishment
So we could eat
So we could heal
So we could be born again anew into this world

We are not birthed just once
My mother has birthed a new version of her child in every meal she has made with the bones of her body

“Kao” she said

So I did

And at my mother’s altar
I was born again