Food has a way of pulling us in, not just through hunger, but through memory, ritual, and the small rebellions we make in the kitchen.
When I was growing up, the kitchen was always alive with food, but I had never cooked. I only watched, spices sizzling, Mustard and Cumin Seeds popping, the slow comfort of Kaali Dal thickening on the stove. Meals arriving, life unfolding on the table. The thought of stepping into the kitchen felt daunting.
When cooking became part of my life, I learned quickly. Recipes were memorised, techniques mastered, meals executed. Compliments were sparse, if at all. Criticism flowed freely. I became very good at cooking. And I hated every minute of it.
And then one day, I stopped cooking. Completely.
For four long years, I flinched mentally each time the thought of cooking came to me. Four years of questioning myself. My capabilities. My choices.
And yet, meals still appeared on the table. Food cooked by staff. Delicious, healing, heartwarming food, soft Rotis still warm to the touch, Dals and Subzis cooked just the way I liked them, Rice that smelled faintly of Ghee and care. Food cooked for me. The food I liked, tailored to my palate. Meals I could savour slowly. Food that soothed something deeper than hunger.
Then one sunny afternoon, something shifted.
It wasn’t obligation that drew me back into the kitchen; it was desire. A particular taste, a memory on the tongue, a quiet craving I couldn’t outsource. The next day, I stepped into the kitchen with trepidation, ready for mistakes, ready to fumble.
But this time, there were no harsh voices. No shouted instructions. No one was watching to swoop down on any misstep.
Just me. And food.
I cooked slowly. Tentatively at first. I tasted as I went, the Salt finally right, the Spices fiery, the food tasting like it belonged to me. I trusted myself. The kitchen felt less like a test and more like a conversation.
And somewhere between chopping and stirring, I realised something startling: I was enjoying it. Not the outcome. Not the approval. The act of cooking itself.
As I cooked, I discovered I had never truly hated cooking. I hated who I had to be while doing it. Rolling Besan Ladoos, still warm, it occurred to me that what is taken away finds its way back, in a better form, when you are finally ready for it. A full circle.
Now, cooking is becoming something different: an expression of care, curiosity, and creativity. A space where I am allowed to take time, make mistakes, and want things simply because I want them. A dialogue with myself, not a performance.
I’m not in love with cooking yet, but I like it. I enjoy it. And that feels like a beginning worth respecting.
Some things don’t need grand declarations; they just need safety. Time. A quiet kitchen. And a low flame that warms you slowly – until one day you realise you are home.
This blog post is part of ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla in collaboration with Sameeksha Reads.
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This was such a fun and honest read! I love how you turned food mishaps into stories of resilience and laughter. It’s a great reminder that sometimes the best memories come from the unexpected twists in the kitchen.
True. I too am not too fond of cooking but cook because I have no choice. I hope one day, like you, I will be able to fall in love with the process…love. the way you have described your transformation—gradual but confirmed.
I loved how you wrote – a lilting poetic style… My own relationship with cooking isn’t too great either – I keep thinking i should do it – but always having people around who can ensure a good meal – gives me the best excuse to stay away from the kitchen! I really do hope someday I am able to reach a point you did!
I am in the I don’t want to cook anymore phase! I’m quite tired of cooking since the last 3 decades. But food does have a soothing impact when you are exhausted. On free days, it is fun also. Like you say, “an expression of care, curiosity, and creativity”.
Nice to hear that you are finding your purpose in going back to the kitchen and starting to cook again. I am sure you are experimenting with new recipes.
That full meal looks just the right kind of delicious. I loved what you said here with, “What is taken away finds its way back, in a better form, when you are finally ready for it. A full circle.” Really, we take the joy of things by making it performative. I too started enjoying to cook when free of all the criticism and unsolicited advice coming my way. That’s why I still prefer to be alone when preparing meals. No peeping, no questions. Simple
I am still in my testing trying hard to make cooking a daily happy conversation. Simply loved the way you expressed yourself with your words.
That full meal looks like it was cooked by a gourmet chef, Mayuri. For me, cooking goes back to when I was 12. I was the youngest, my mom was slow, and my Bhabhi was super fast. She kept making barbs at her, and I didnt like it one bit. I started helping in the kitchen, and that’s how I learnt to cook. My mom’s recipes are extremely delicious. My kids and my grandsons love them. Cooking has always been an act of love.
This felt so real to read Mayuri. That line about not hating cooking but hating who you had to be while doing it… that stayed. So many of us grew up watching kitchens run like performance zones instead of safe spaces, and somewhere along the way the joy got replaced with pressure.
As a mom, it’s easy to slip into that same pattern without even noticing, cooking because it’s expected, not because the heart wants to. Loved how you described coming back to it on your own terms. Beautifully written.
This post resonated with me and you know why. Cooking is one of my favourite things. The act of conceptualizing, prepping, and slowly bringing a dish to life is so therapeutic. Hope you enjoy cooking again, M. Your food pics are great!
That was a lovely read Mayuri. I’m glad you found lovw to cook.i enjoy watching your bowls
Your honest storytelling about kitchen mishaps and the resilience that follows felt so real and comforting. It beautifully shows how small failures often become life lessons, reminding us to laugh at ourselves, keep trying, and grow stronger through everyday experiences.
Your story about food and kitchen trials was genuine and easy to follow. The shift from pressure to peaceful cooking was written with care. The journey from fear to simple enjoyment felt uplifting and sincere.
Everyone has a unique journey with cooking. Mine is so far very joyous. I like to experiment with food, doesn’t matter if they are success or a failure. Till last year, I alone had to survive the outcome, now my partner has to suffer through it..
love this reflection—so honest and human. The way you captured reclaiming joy, trust, and freedom in the kitchen is beautiful. It’s quiet, personal, and deeply relatable. Truly inspiring.
I too cook and try new recipes although the frequency of trying new has reduced due to lack of enough time. But here I want to share one episode during Lockdown… It was cooking that saved me from feeling negative and yet productive. That time it was like a stress buster for me and discovered many new dishes and my first Recipe anthology was published during this period.
This is so relatable. I never quite figured out if i even liked cooking thanks to the ‘compliments’ from relatives – the constant pressure and demand to leave what i was doing to go make another round of tea or the bhindi which i made best…. i just walked away from it all. your post makes me think maybe its time to do this again, on my own and my own terms and see how i really feel about cooking.