Riya and the Spice Tin: A Story and a Poem

Uncle Dev's Spice Tin

1Every Sunday, Uncle Dev cooked dinner for the whole family, and every Sunday, Riya asked to help. "You can help when you know the spices," he always said with a wink. He kept his spices in a round metal tin with seven little cups inside.

2This Sunday, Riya had a plan. While Uncle Dev chopped onions, she lifted the lid of the tin and sniffed each cup. The yellow powder smelled warm and earthy. The tiny black seeds smelled sharp. The brown sticks smelled sweet, like a cookie.

3"This yellow powder is turmeric," she said. "These black seeds are mustard seeds, and the brown sticks are cinnamon." Uncle Dev put down his knife. His eyebrows went up. "Who taught you that?"

4"My nose did," Riya said with a grin. "I asked Mom the names last week. Then I practiced smelling the jars in our kitchen every day."

5Uncle Dev laughed and handed her a small spoon. He told her to drop two pinches of mustard seeds into the hot oil. The seeds popped and danced in the pan. Soon the whole kitchen smelled warm and nutty. That night, everyone at the table said the dal was the best they had ever eaten.

Sunday Kitchen

1A sizzle, a stir, a sprinkle of gold,
a pot full of stories my uncle has told.

2The windows get foggy, the table grows long,
my cousins come early and hum a soft song.

3We pass the warm bowls from hand to hand,
the best kind of Sunday, just as we planned.