I am sitting on the floor
around the mat we always sit around
to eat. It is 5 in the morning
before the LA heat:
Baba is silently chewing
and my brother is half-asleep.
The only one fully awake
is Ma, as always.
God, I do not know how
but she is.
She places a paratha in front of me.
'Eat up'.
It has skirmish borders
but is generally round
with a typography of brown:
dark spots and charred edges.
And I nibble at it with my hands,
slowly.
It is 5:10. Everyone is a bit
more awake and talking.
Except Ma,
as always.
She says her head hurts
and her saying that reminds
me of my own headache.
I finish my paratha
and give her a glass of water
and her pills.
'Do you want another one?'
And I can already feel my stomach
rejecting.
I can tell she wants me to say no.
And it's her lucky day.
God forbid she gets another paratha to make,
and I get another
to eat.
-
Author:
PennedAI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 6th, 2026 02:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
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Comments6
This rings true with so many things, a mothers care for her child, a child's independence growing and the conflict between the two. Very nicely written in poetic form
Thank you for your read and comment
You are most welcome
A window into another culture and lifestyle to mine with cross cultural elements (LA??). Stimulates my imagination for the relationships underlying it all. Thanks.
Thank you for the read, and you're most welcome
Brief look at a beautiful relationship. Well done.
Thank you so much
A good write on mother's love and care .
Thank you for your comment and the fave!
Abdullah, there’s a quiet, grounded tenderness here…family, routine, small gestures that say more than words. That image of the paratha anchors it, and everything around it builds into something deeply human. It feels lived, not written. Well done. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Is indeed lived in, and a common occurrence in my household... especially during Ramadan
Glad the message got across
Thank you for the comment and fave!
Beautifully written. It's the small things that stick with us. There's always something special about home food, especially made from your mother during Ramadan. Desi food is always lovingly made.
(from a first gen Pakistani in America)
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