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Her Kitchen

by Rinku Khumukcham
0 comment 3 minutes read

By- Dr Nunglekpam Premi Devi
Independent Scholar

She sits and she turns; front and back;

She’s clean as she cooks and enters ‘her’ kitchen;

She washed and mops ‘her’ piece of kitchen land,

With all those ‘lafu nura’ she wipes round and again;

Dark and cool; neat and tidy; small and single space;

Sunlight lit through small window above her head;

Her kitchen mesmerizing with all richness;

Lights and heats; meitans and warmth so cozy;

She looks as graceful as she enters her kitchen;

Her ‘phanek’ up held high her breast,

No sandals approaching; softly touching her kitchen land;

She asks ‘what do you want to eat’?

‘What should I cook for you’?

As she matches fire she Phoo phoo phoos,phooo and fooos.

Muddy Leirang, twigs’ bundles and woods;

Locating in the middle of ‘her’ room, small and dark;

She cooks for self and she smiles without sins;

With no gas stoves, tools and tables, gas cylinder and cookers;

‘Her’ chafus, Uyans all in old and new use,

All in an imbalance position, she still works on,

Spoons and khabeis; chegap and no gas lighter;

Cups and plates; pukhams and tengkots and mugs;

All in spreading, all in one in one standing;

Found spreading all around ‘Her’ reaching all by her hand;

She cooks and she boils; she keeps and she covers;

She sits down and she stands up again and all;

As she walks and she speaks; her hands so engaged;

She lights her leirang and she matches now and again;

As though she starts now and again, all with blows;

Phoo phoo phoos phooo phooo and fooos.


She boils and she rotates and she let it down;

‘Her’ body’s bending and ‘her’ knees up to her chin;

Ah! She’s beautiful at her own; she’s goddesses of life;

She owns ‘thum chafus, morok kaouta, ngari utong,

Machu utong, nga ayaiba utong, one to two tilhou,

Bit of maroi napakpi, few maroi nakuppis, slices of drid heiribok,

Few gingers, heijang thang, all small and all small,

Uchan and samuk; she adore on her wooden phan;

Spreading her hands, right and left turning in and out;

Reaching all her essentials ‘thum chafus’ and cooking;

Happy as she is burden to none; she rotates chafus now and again;

Her hands holding fire twigs now and again, all with blows;

Phoo phoo phoos phooo phooo and fooos.

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