“Rasam, piping hot. 2 mins,” Mom yells from the kitchen.
Tears well up in my eyes. I feel betrayed, angry, bitter. My chest feels heavy. My head aches from having to bottle up my emotions. I should have been at Dubrovnik of King’s Landing. With my friends. And yet here I am. Sequestered indoors while they tour Croatia.
“Relax, chinna,” she says, walking in with a bowl.
The pungent smell hits me hard, makes my nostrils burn. The held-up tears come gushing down in a torrent, but end in a smile. With a jolt I realize I can smell again.
Note: Rasam is the south-Indian version of spicy-sweet soup, and often consumed for it’s associated health benefits, This 100-word micro-fiction is written for the Covid Crazies 2021 Edition of the Blogging from A-Z Challenge. The entire list of 2021 posts can be accessed here.