Mustard Seed, Mustered the Courage To Write
It is not just a mustard seed,
It is associated with smell, sights, people and memories,
Crackling mustard seeds and curry leaves,
In the pan filled with hot-oil,
Mother shouting to keep the tin back in place,
In the rack where it belonged,
Memories of time spent with my mother in the kitchen,
Food was always a way to the heart,
Mustard was a key ingredient in almost all the dishes,
A pinch or tablespoon was enough to do the wonders.
Small, brown and round.
Dancing in the oil,
Spicing up our lives,
Jesus said, "Kingdom of heaven is like to a grain of mustard seed, which is the smallest of all seeds on earth. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants, with such big branches that the birds can perch in its shade."
I remember the cold evenings spent in Northern India,
Mother used to tell us to apply mustard oil,
It was thick and yellowish.
Helped us fight against cold winters.
Many memories attached with it.
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