When my husband R was alive, we had this tradition that on Sunday we would have parathas and omelette for breakfast, and a rice pulao for lunch. The rice pulao was cooked with mutton, chic peas and raisins. We never deviated from this ritual. It was like I was carrying over the traditional food of my own childhood.
R loved parathas. If he had his way, we would have been eating them everyday. It would have been too grueling for me to make them daily. When he had his open heart surgery (ninety eight percent of his arteries were clogged) the doctor told him that he should stop having egg yolks. He only abstained for a month. He couldn’t forgo his omelette.
Another tradition was getting up late on Sundays. We would get up to say our Fajr prayer, then go to sleep again to wake up at ten. Then I had to rush through everything, so Sunday was a really hectic day for me.
With Son having parathas is a thing of the past. There was a time when he thought that to forgo a paratha was a big crime. He is concerned now that eating it is not healthy, and I’m happy that I don’t have to cook it for his sake.
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