Coiled cornucopia

I pick the sticky, sweet-smelling spiral with my fingers and admire its shape, slender coils spiralling inwards and meeting up in the centre in a thick irregular mass, the coils translucent and shiny with promise. I place it between my teeth and try to bite, but I'm met with resistance, as if the coils do not want to give away their bounty. So I bite harder, persistent in my desire. This time the thin, fragile walls collapse and the ambriosa comes flowing out and coating my tongue with such honeyed sweetness that my eyes close by themselves in delirious pleasure. The next time I bring my teeth together the walls break down even further with a soft crunch as more liquid escapes the fragile walls. Moving, mingling, merging, into a melting mass of molten magic. As taste-buds fire in 1000W intensity, sending lightning flashes of epicurean joy to the brain which in turn orders my heart to dance in pure delight.


Now I am taking them one by one, off the plate, with my eyes shut, sticky fingers finding stickier coils by the mere pull of anticipated pleasure. I lose track of time and place until I am abrubtly brought back to the world when sticky fingers encounter only a sticky, empty plate. Eyes fly open to confirm the truth, and alas, it is so. I sit back and sigh satisfiedly, with just a hint of guilt as I think of the calories surging through my body. I put those thoughts aside and continue to bask in the glow of remembered happiness.


Grateful? Of course! To the person(s) who invented and passed on this culinary wonder down the years until it reached me and provided me with a delighful experience everytime :)

The soaring call

As I sit here, in this land dotted with mosques, every few hours, I hear the muezzin call. It begins low at first and then like an ocean swell that rises from somewhere deep, it quickly gains momentum and rises, a wall of sound fuelled by devotion, embodied with worship, and driven by longing.

And then a pause, dramatic in its abruptness, as if the wave was stopping to rally its forces. And then the call rising again, meandering through the pathways of the heart, wiping them clear of vestiges of doubt, filling them with love. Sweeping me along, climbing higher and higher, like as if it wanted to bridge the gap between earth and heaven, to dissolve the veil that seperates the two.

The final crescendo, knocking on those golden gates where the Spirit dwells, and then they open, those diaphanous doors, transporting me for some glorious moments into the presence of everything luminous, awe-inspiring, blessed.

Leaving me deeply and joyously grateful.