Memories on a Plate, October poems and other comforting things 🌱
Dearest reader,
It’s been a super busy month, that flew by with such intensity that I didn’t even realize that I hadn’t sent out a newsletter for the past four weeks! I’m sorry about the disappearing act, in case anyone was was missing these emails.
As I spend a Sunday afternoon handpicking the poems and links that you’ll soon encounter, I’m seeing just how much I needed this pause. It feels like everything has been happening non-stop, and that the whole month was really one long day, sans weekends.
Somehow, this act of returning to Substack to share my garbled thoughts and finds with strangers reminds of that familiar Blogger-era rush of pressing Send. So thank you for being here, kind stranger. It matters more than you know.
Memories on a Plate is back!
I’ve been so tired that I haven’t even sent out a newsletter sharing that my baby, Memories on a Plate, which I’ve co-curated with Shruti from Nivaala, is back in print after a year! And we have a limited 1000 copies out in the world again thanks to the good folks at Two Brothers Organic Farms!
Memories on a Plate isn’t a recipe book but an anthology that brings together personal anecdotes, recipes, art, poetry and photo essays from 100 Indian kitchens. A celebration of food and storytelling.
I’m going to sit and write a newsletter about the labour of love that’s gone into this book soon. Until then, here’s a little backstory to munch on. 🍲
Poetry for the tired soul
Pajama Days by Joanna Zarkadas
Here’s to pajama days,
And the people who celebrate them.
Here's to comfort over style,
Uncombed hair and faces without makeup.
Hats off to reading all day
Or binge watching the latest Netflix series.
Kudos to cold pizza for breakfast,
Or hot buttered popcorn for dinner.
Blue ribbons for long phone conversations with friends,
And lazy couch lounging by the fire.
Gold medals for forgetting about “to do” lists,
Bathrooms that need cleaning,
Or bills that need paying.
Cheers to taking a day off every now and again
Without remorse, without guilt, without judgment.
High fives to sometimes doing whatever you want,
When you want, and
Eating whatever suits your fancy,
No matter the carb count or sugar content.
Here’s to pajama days,
And a round of applause for those who know they deserve them!This morning
as my eyes blink
open
it occurs to me
as if for the first time
what you, miracle body, have been up to
All night long, while I let go
you pumped blood through veins
to fingertips and toes
grew cells and eyelashes and nails
inhaled and exhaled
countless times
all this while the sun
tirelessly
birthed new
life
all this without a thought or a word
or a worry
without a drop of help
from me
I laugh when I remember
that just yesterday in a torrent
of heart-numbing
stories
I seriously thought
I
needed to do somethingMost Days I Want to Live by Gabrielle Calvocoressi
Not all days. But most days
I do. Most days the garden’s
almost enough: little pink flowers
on the sage, even though
the man said we couldn’t eat
it. Not this kind. And I said,
Then, gosh. What’s the point?
The flowers themselves,
I suppose. The rain came
and then the hail came and my love
brought them in. Even tipped
over they look optimistic.
I know it’s too late to envy
the flowers. That century’s
over and done. And hope?
That’s a jinx. But I did set them
right. I patted them a little.
And prayed for myself, which
is embarrassing to admit
in this day and age. But I did it.
Because no one was looking
or listening anyway.When I opened the door
I found the vine leaves
speaking among themselves in abundant
whispers.
My presence made them
hush their green breath,
embarrassed, the way
humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,
acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if
the conversation had ended
just before you arrived.
I liked
the glimpse I had, though,
of their obscure
gestures. I liked the sound
of such private voices. Next time
I’ll move like cautious sunlight, open
the door by fractions, eavesdrop
peacefully.
A few comforting things
Legal Lullabies (made me chuckle)
Richard Scarry Love’s list of pocket finds after a visit to the park
“All through your life, the most precious experiences seem to vanish. Transience turns everything to air. You look behind and see no sign even of a yesterday that was so intense. Yet in truth, nothing ever disappears, nothing is lost. Everything that happens to us in the world passes into us. It all becomes part of the inner temple of the soul and it can never be lost. This is the art of the soul: to harvest your deeper life from all the seasons of your experience. This is probably why the soul never surfaces fully. The intimacy and tenderness of its light would blind us. We continue in our days to wander between the shadowing and the brightening, while all the time a more subtle brightness sustains us. If we could but realize the sureness around us, we would be much more courageous in our lives. The frames of anxiety that keep us caged would dissolve. We would live the life we love and in that way, day by day, free our future from the weight of regret.”
—John O’Donohue | Excerpt from Beauty: The Invisible Embrace
Excited to be sending this off into the world. Whoooooosh!
Stay tender,
Rohini
Welcome back! Uplifting for me and others....thank you.
You move like cautious sunlight. Go carefully. But if you fall, you’ll find a way and a place to shine again.