My Story from India to America

Welcome to the Mother’s Kitchen table. It is nice to have you here. 

Mother’s Kitchen has been in the works my whole life, whether I knew it or not. Growing up in India, the kitchen was the hub of life. I remember watching my grandfather examining individual grains of rice being sold by a vendor and my grandmother selecting the vegetables for the day from a cart wheeled up to her front door. 

And at the age of nine, I moved with my parents and sister to the United States. It was hard to leave India. As the story goes I told my grandmother “I’m not leaving. They are taking me.”, the kitchen remained not only the hub of life but also a connection to my roots. My mom ruled the kitchen, shooing us out of the kitchen while she she made meals. Meals that smelled like my childhood in India. I’ve heard that smell is one of the most evocative senses linking us to memories. I believe it. The smell of toasted cumin, sizzling mustard seeds and simmering ginger is a thread connecting all the years of my life.

I didn’t start cooking until I was in high school and didn’t cook Indian food until college. The kitchen was my mom’s domain, and while she would ask for our help with prep and clean up, she commanded the craft. But, I watched, tasted, and grew myself into someone curious about what I could do. And, as I made friends, lived on my own and set up my own kitchens, making Indian food became a way i introduced myself to people. 

And now, here I am. I spent some time as a civil engineer. I got my MBA and worked in project management. I married, had kids, bought a house, and all the while I cultivated an idea. It took a while to form, kind of like a masala. Memories, life experiences, observations and learnings, all ingredients coming together to make a base for something of my own creation.