write a letter to your father who stays in mumbai and tell him how you are keeping yourself during this lockdown
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On local trains, I used to overhear phone conversations. Fights, flirtations, and often the question: Khana khaya? Did you eat?
If someone asked me, my answers would be monosyllabic. Food wasn't something I liked to talk about. That is, until last week. I get it now. The superficial -- What are you eating? Is that all? -- masks the essential (I'm thinking of you). If friends ask me now, I answer in earnest: Khichdi. Bread. Potatoes, yes, again.
My timeline is now full of photos of self-prepared meals and recipes. I read them, uselessly. Most ingredients are missing from our kitchen. There's a grocery store right outside, a dairy across the road, and a bakery every few yards. But the lockdown was only announced at 8pm, when it was scheduled to start at midnight. We'd been self-isolating for a week already, and supplies were so low that, along with the rest of the city,