A foreboding premonition rose to the front of his mind: without the right spices, his cooking just wouldn’t turn out right, and his wife Rana would break into tears, launching into her routine tirade. Resigned, he loaded up the metal shopping cart with ground pepper and paprika, wheeling it toward the cash register. The same land that was supposed to grant him more constitutional rights had also robbed him of his sensory joys. Although he had spent years in this country, the aroma of his home - an exquisite blend of turmeric, cumin, and freshly monsoon-drenched earth - still haunted Neel’s memory as he sighed into the dry, stale, air-conditioned atmosphere of the American supermarket. On a daring day, Americans would venture to purchase paprika, which was about as seasoned as their cuisine would get. While cardamom, let alone coriander powder, was nowhere to be found. White fluorescent overhead lights illuminated the vast shelves, which contained over three different brands of ground black pepper. This story delves into very deeply important and timely themes of assimilation, family, mental health, and familial obligations.Īmerica just didn’t have the right supply of spices, Neel thought as he scanned the towering aisles of the grocery store for the third time. BGM literary editor Nimarta Narang is honored to publish this short story by the brilliant writer Ria Mazumdar.
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