When I was little, I used to watch my mom press a small red bindi to the center of her forehead before leaving the house.
Posts published by “Disha Rana”
The whistle of the kettle was always my first alarm. Long before the sun spilled through the curtains, the kitchen filled with the sharp bite of ginger, the sweetness of cardamom, and the earthy warmth of black tea simmering with milk.
In my family, the dinner table is a place where two worlds meet. On one side, there’s my mom’s plate — fragrant with spiced lentils, sautéed okra, and fresh roti.