
I run towards the patch of land – recently burned to ashes – while playing hide-and-seek. As a nine-year-old, this is my secret hiding place. It is completely brown, black, and barren. A few days ago, it was a riot of wildflowers dancing in the breeze. But now, nothing. As I hide behind a dry, ash-coloured bush, my eyes catch something. I blink. Wait, is that a leaf? I bend towards it. Yes! A baby leaf happily nodding in the breeze.
I water the plant religiously. One day, I pester my grandmother to come and see my plant. She looks and exclaims: “This is khatti booti [sorrel herb]!” and pats my head. “We make a curry with it.”