Summer Breakfast

A fresh April Sunday, and stir was caused by maybe the milkman or the guy who was scheduled to take blood sample of my little sister, for I don’t know as I was deep in slumber. Summer Sundays are always crisp in the house. And by god’s grace there was no maid today for some trivial reason, though Ma wasn’t exactly cheerful about it. At eleven in the morning, the kitchen is filled with the enchanting fumes of potatoes being roasted along with chattering of Ma and my siblings. They’re talking about potatoes, fried, baked, and Aloo tikki, which Ma seemed to be preparing on this fruity morning.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s