Hot soup is a delight during winters or the rains. It gives a warm feeling before lunch or dinner. Surprisingly, the soup has the highest probability of being salty. Irrespective of the place, many times the salt component in the soup has been dominant, giving it a little less desired flavor. I don’t know how the salt increases… it always felt like a serious incapability of the cook.

It was during one of the rainy seasons at a place of comfort and convenience that I happened to pass the kitchen… the brightly lit kitchen and the sparkling utensils made me pause for a second. I was always attracted to the kitchen and the fire… that’s when I saw a pearl drop descend from the eyes and disappear into the soup cauldron. I moved quickly to avoid being seen and went on to meet all those who were there.

A lot of fun and laughter, and it was time for dinner. As the soup was served… hot and aromatic… tasting it… a little salty. I looked up to see the smiling yet tired face, the one who had put the hot soup in front of me. Everyone pointed at the salt, I had no words. I was always the one who had something to say… today I was speechless.

I wondered how many hardships and pains must have been endured silently for the soup to taste so true in its feelings. As I sipped on the soup, I went down memory lane to all the difficulties and challenges my parents had faced to put food on the table. I realized that at times when the food was a little off in taste, I had never taken a look at my mom’s or dad’s face. I never had the ability to understand why the hands that fed us were so hard and the faces so tired after a day’s work. I did not see why my elder sibling had to stop studying to support the family. At times the rice used to be dry and the vegetables repeated within a week with a tinge of extra salt.

Time had moved and so did we… it felt like this was all a long time ago. Things had changed, we all had moved up in life to better ourselves. The challenges were different today… I was supposed to make soup today for everyone at home. More of a dare…

As I poured the water, added the spices for flavor and aroma, a couple of tears unknowingly rolled into the soup. I felt that pain today standing near the stove, that everyone in my life had taken for me to be here. While I had a little salty soup, they sacrificed even that for it to taste better for me with less water.

I heard someone walk into the kitchen. I gathered myself and got into the chef mode. The soup’s aroma was all over the house… as the members tasted the soup… I heard someone in the kitchen say… a little less salt.

The Salty Soup.