here i am at my mother’s tonight, at a hiyaa flat done up nicely. and it would be a nice enough space but for the ugly sofas my parents have brought all the way from our house in male.

anyhow, tonight on the menu we have muguriha, thelli faiy, and some green chillies that my mum got from the market.

‘i can’t trust your father to bring me good chillies,’ she tells me while she mixes up everything in that motherly fashion we all know and love. ‘he has no eye for these things.’

‘what’s so special about these chillies?’ i ask.

‘have a taste,’ says mother and almost shoves one down my throat. she’s a bit like that.

it has a very distinct flavour and is pretty spicy.

‘what’s that taste?’

‘don’t you like it?’ she says handing me the plate of rice.

‘i do,’ i say.

‘it’s good because it’s grown here.’

‘you mean in this building?’

‘why must you try to be funny?’

i think i get it from you actually, i say to myself.

‘did you say something?’

‘no, nothing.’

i scoop up a baissuvaa and begin to chew. the mugu has a little bit of bite, mugu al-dente if you will, while the thelli faiy is crisp. the heat of the chilli and its unique flavour level things up a notch. together, they make for a lovely homecooked meal.

‘you know mother, i watched a film recently, a bangla film. i think you’ll like it.’

‘i can’t watch films anymore,’ she replies.

‘why not?’

‘because they resemble life too closely now. i don’t want to take a break from life for more life.’

i guess she hasn’t seen the marvel films then.

my rice is done, and mother takes the plate and puts it in the sink. thanks ma.

‘before you go, can you put on some pants and pray in kokko’s room?’ she says.

‘i’ll pray when i get home, ok?’

‘you can lie to me but you can’t to the almighty, son. you live in His grace always. please remember that.’

‘i will.’

and i leave, my belly full, my mind clear as the water around an untouched sandbank. i find myself alone in the lift and as i descend, i sense a curious and opposite feeling of ascension. everything that happens in this world happens within me, i think. i am so much a part of it as it is of me.

i walk out of the tower and look up. this beast of concrete soars into the night, the windows all lit up. beyond it hang fat clouds, red with rain. and the world feels full, completely full of the magic of grace. how could it be otherwise? then the drops begin to fall and i hurry to the bus stop to wait among my fellow travellers.