"Pyaz?" I repeated, trying to get the pronunciation right.
"Pyaz aur adrak," she replied, smiling. "Onions and ginger." A Multicultural Reader Daniel Bonevac.epub
As we cooked, she taught me phrases and words in Hindi, Gujarati, and even some Urdu. I was a sponge, soaking up the language like a hungry plant drinks water. "Pyaz?" I repeated
"The Language of My Mother's Kitchen"
As a child, I never understood why my mother's kitchen was always filled with the most incredible smells. She would cook up a storm, and the aromas would waft through the entire house, making everyone's stomach growl with anticipation. But it wasn't just the food that was a mystery to me - it was the language she spoke while she cooked. " she replied