I could let the dal cook and not give it a look,
Let it stick to the base of the pot.
Then skim off the top, throw the burned part out,
And not worry about the waste, if what’s left suits my taste.
But the bottom of the pot holds the flavour,
That makes the dal taste divine.
And looking away is more labour,
Because scrubbing away the burn takes time.
Sometimes,
We have to stir the pot a little, to let the flavour spread.
Taking care that the bottom doesn’t burn.
Stirring while it bubbles even though we might get splattered.
Cos all parts make the whole and every small bit does matter.
Cos the bottom of the pot holds the flavour,
That makes the dal taste divine.
Because looking away is more labour,
And scrubbing away the burn takes time.
PS : Dal is a gravy made with split pulses.
I wrote this poem in a week that had me thinking about a culture where there’s space for diversity. With admiration and respect for the many pot-stirrers that I know. Some stir by design and some by chance. They get splattered and occasionally get burned, deal with it gracefully and keep going on doing what they do – making a positive difference.
