The only thing I haven't cooked yet is meth.

I tell to myself.

Bitch stop fucking up your life and better start fucking food up. Better stop experimenting with yourself and start with food. Has helped a lot. A LOT.

Now that I had discovered that milk can be made saucy and is the key to white sauce pasta I have made it a point to add to everything I can. Never checking recipes online, I create something and guess what, everyone loves it.

This makes cooking my number 1 hobby for now because I can't go back to my novel before taking some space and will never go back to watching movies. So cooking is Something to clear my mind. Now, it doesn't mean that I make yucky recipes that are downright horrible to hear. I just do everything I have learnt not to do. For instance, ayurveda calls mixing milk with salt as shuddhaniddhi virodah ( learnt at yoga ttc. Yeah Iam a yoga instructor and have taken online classes at a college in my place ). All my life I had eaten milk rice with salt.

On a venture to make rasgullas, I hope it would turn out better. Making a way down white sauce pasta and then panneer butter masala with milk cream and stuffed garlic and cheese kulcha, now Iam onto tangy mushroom Manchurian gravy with roti for tonight. And a dash of iced tea (because even the word coffee is banned in my house and you can't have ginger tea of black tea at night. I don't miss lemon tea and an ice burst, not even a little ) Fuck, I have started feeling like a typical Indian housewife (no generalizing). Nooooooooooo. The only thing I can't bear is my grandma peeking into the kitchen with a satisfied smile that Iam getting into cooking. How do I tell her that eating food has stopped helping me and I have to go one step further and cook to distract?. All my friends make that usual cliched Iam-too-bored-of-hearinh jokes on how the people who eat will die. An I send that laughing emoji, exhausted.

Okay I cook for the tears that burn my eyes when I peel onion, finally making me feel something.