As we cooked, she taught me phrases and words in Hindi, Gujarati, and even some Urdu. I was a sponge, soaking up the language like a hungry plant drinks water.
The more I learned, the more I realized that language was just a small part of the culture my mother had brought with her from India. The food, the music, the festivals - everything was intertwined, a rich braid of traditions and customs.
"Pyaz aur adrak," she replied, smiling. "Onions and ginger." A Multicultural Reader Daniel Bonevac.epub
My mother, born and raised in India, would switch between Hindi, English, and Gujarati with ease, often within the same sentence. Her words were like a spice blend, tossed together with a dash of this and a pinch of that. I'd listen, mesmerized, as she chatted with her sisters, her friends, or even herself, while she chopped, sautéed, and simmered.
A fictional writer, Nalini Rao
One day, I decided to learn. I sat on a stool beside my mother, watching as she expertly chopped onions and ginger. "What's that?" I asked, pointing to the pile of chopped vegetables.
"The Language of My Mother's Kitchen"
My mother chuckled. "That's close, beta. Pyaz means 'onion' in Hindi."