Strawberry Sorbet & Sweet Paratha

Nobody drives a forty-eight years old car. It doesn’t meet today’s need for speed, practicality, ecology, prestige or other values attached to a vehicle. Cars could, potentially, last longer but our ever changing desires dictate when a car, mobile phone, computer or camera is outdated.

Buildings from the 60’s, on the other hand, are still used for living although they may require renovation. They are more expensive to design and, thus, more respected. Also, homes are emotional investments: they are made of memories. Unless abandoned, a house will stand for several generations.

As awkward as it may sound, the human lifespan is somewhere between a car and a building! Our tissue deteriorates faster than the combination of earth, water, fire, air and ether in wood, stone or metal. Or, even, plastic! A physical body is made of matter, although it’s organic and able to stretch, transform and facilitate our mental and intellectual development to a large degree. It’s intricate and, in many ways, inconceivable. But, it will decay and die, just like everything else. Even the subtle matter that forms our sense of self, mind and ability to discriminate will, often, debilitate in old age, despite of its advanced metaphysical nature and ability to archive impressions during a lifetime. It’s the part of us that wants to and will manifest again, even after death, to realize our passions. Therefore, death is nothing but changing a set of clothes for a new role, situation and relationships. It’s the end of a play and the beginning of a new script.

If you are wondering why the morbid subject, no, I’m not dying. Yet. I just turned forty-eight!

Optimistically speaking, forty-eight is a late afternoon, six o’clock, in a twelve hour circle. It’s a transition hour; a twilight. The fall of night is probable, although not immediate. Naturally, I find myself less enamored by the wonders of this world and more withdrawn. Similarly, there are fewer smiles on my face but many in the heart.

If anything, birthdays remind me of the transitory principle of material life! Accepting a sack of blood, flesh, bones and mucus, as a residence, is a mixed deck. However, the cards are not delivered randomly. We get what we order, knowingly and unknowingly. We may not remember when, where, why or how we requested what comes our way. Neither can we, usually, cancel the order at our convenience but, thankfully, we can deal with it in a sensible and sober manner. The sages recommend observing the field and working with it intelligently: being in, but not of, the world! For a soul, constituted by the finest transcendental substance of eternity, knowledge and bliss, it’s the way to remain unaffected by the erosion of time. For one who is never born, there won't be death.

To celebrate of being never born, we enjoyed refreshing strawberry sorbet and sweet parathas (flatbreads) made with cinnamon bun spices with my husband yesterday. An odd combination, perhaps, but it tasted otherworldly.

Unlike the banana ice-cream I’ve made before, this sorbet was far from insipid. Strawberries restore the potential and glory of the recipe.

Today is one of the biggest holidays, and a fasting day, in our vaishnava tradition of yoga. It’s to commemorate Sri Caitanya Mahaprabhu, who appeared like the moon to dissipate the darkness of ignorance. He is prananath: the one in charge of my life-air.

Thank you.