Nostalgia smells of five-spice powder in my grandmother's Bengali kitchen It makes my eyes water every time I throw together ingredients into the crackling mustard oil and shut the lid, hoping that, in time, they will have transformed into a masterpiece worthy of her inheritance.
Nostalgia tastes like the fourth spoon my father dips into the fish curry after licking it off the first three, not because there was anything amiss but, simply, because he wants to revel in the flavour, just a little longer. He says food is a labour of love- there should always be enough second helpings.
Nostalgia is the pallor of slivered almonds that Mother heaps upon my kheer (because I won't eat it any other way) In my land, almonds, not rosemary, stand for remembrance and she always adds a little more, just to make sure that some day, floundering amidst alien tongues, I remember precisely how many parts tradition I need to blend with a dash of experiment to recreate the taste of home.
Third Prize Co-Winner: "Nostalgia" by Amrita Brahmo (India) Lian-Hee Wee's commentary: Beauty is found often in the humblest things in life. The elegance typical Indian art is portrayed in this poem with the humility and love that pervades home cooking. As un-noteworthy as second helpings are to those who enjoy them, when seen from the perspective of the person who ensures its availability, one suddenly smells and tastes all the cultural associations of the five-spice powder, the almonds, the mustard oil as one hears their crackling sounds under the closed lid, even when one is not in India, even when one is not Indian. Listening to this poem is best in a lazy afternoon, when one finds mental space, even if preoccupied but numbed by dread of work, for longing a little time with those who enabled us to soar from our childhood home. [Read other Auditory Cortex poems.]
Third Prize Co-Winner: