The moment ‘food’ entered my thoughtscape, vivid memories, some in sepia and some in colour came up from dusty albums of my mind.

A savored memory from around 1987 to 1997: I was the apple of my dadima’s eyes. My grandma passed away almost 3 decades ago when I was only 16, but to this date I have never eaten a besan ki chakki or moth ka saag without remembering her or recalling the deliciousness that rubbed off from her hands. That perfect flakiness of the chakki and the right tanginess of the legumes are still distinct in my memory.

A lingering memory from 1987 to 2006: I got married in 2006, and since then I have rarely eaten my mom’s shahi tukda or cheese toasts. But they remain emboldened in my memory for eternity. Every time she made those sugary, syrupy toasts for little me, I heard my mom’s ‘love you’ dripping from the sweet bread squares. Likewise, her lip-smacking cheese toasts have always been and still are an integral family tradition of all special birthday breakfasts.

A sunny memory from 1999-2002: I graduated from Delhi University, and parathas were a staple supply in North Indian homes. Even today, biting into a gobi or an aloo paratha anywhere in the world transports me back to my mama’s breakfast table in Delhi. My mamiji served us hot and crisp parathas in the beautiful wintry chill, with cups of steaming chai and our riotous laughter in the background. Years have passed since, and I have lost my mama and mamiji, but that relished memory still warms my heart.

What is it about food that holds our precious memories so delectably, treasures the human connection so tenderly, and builds our bond with itself so earnestly?