An imperfect cook I often look up the recipes saved in a handmade diaryone I had brought along, it was sealed in a quilted bagof things, it was not one of brocade or of autumn richcolors, not like bags sealed with dowry, massive, final this bag was handmade, my dadi’s, not a quintessentialfeast of gold and zardozi of weddings, it was permeableof skin, muslin pores on its surface, colored in mustardof haldi, reminding me of dadi’s golden concoction withginger, honey …