By Mrs. Anjum Wasim Dar
My earliest memories of my mother are of silence, elegance and grace standing in the kitchen by the large, dark brick cooking "opening,” (I would call it), where long wooden pieces crisscrossing each other would project smoky flames under a big cooking pot. I never wondered what was inside it, as the smoke would catch my eyes; happy to see my mother present there I would run out to play. Yes, Mom is there. A feeling of peace and tremendous happiness would flood me; mother is something rare in this world. The kitchen, too, was a complete little house, separate from the main living quarters. It was always dark inside; the roof was high. A cupboard with a net door would contain the bottles of spices, salt, pepper and other items: plates and a variety of spoons, some with long handles.
In the left corner of the room was the deep cemented washing basin. The tap was too high for me, and a similar high counter-like slab continued on the side. I remember just a dark room where food is cooked and plates are washed. It was rather small and only three or four people could be inside at a time.
I am sending a picture of my mother in a traditional dress called Gharara suit, worn in the times of the Mughal Emperors. This was also worn by the ladies, wives of the Nawabs of Indian States. Nowadays it is a choice dress for the brides-to-be. The lower portion is embroidered according to design. The shirt is mostly worn plain; the cloth used is satin or silk; the veil or dupatta is large and also has embroidery on all the four sides.
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