Nilah, Malar, and Mira's Picnic

Nilah stood on her toes, peering over the kitchen counter where Appa was chopping vegetables. The aroma of roasted spices filled the house. Appa looked at her and smiled, “Want to help me today, Nilah?” She nodded eagerly. Appa always said the kitchen was like a small adventure camp—you learned things, made mistakes, and got rewarded with something delicious at the end. Nilah had always loved watching Appa cook, but today felt different. She wanted to learn, not just watch. She wanted to make things with her own hands, the way Appa did.
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Appa handed her a small bowl of tomatoes. “Let’s start simple. Tomato chutney.” Nilah carefully plucked the ripe tomatoes, washed them, and chopped them into uneven pieces. Appa didn’t correct her. “Cooking isn’t about perfect shapes, Nilah. It’s about doing things with care,” he said. As the pan sizzled and the spices popped, Appa explained how food cooked at home is not just about taste—it’s about knowing what goes into your body. 

“When you cook, you take charge of what you eat. It’s like a superpower. You don’t have to depend on someone else, or packaged food, or eating out,” he said. Nilah liked that thought. She was always told to brush her hair and tie her shoelaces to be independent. But no one had told her that cooking was also a kind of independence.
As they ground the chutney, Appa shared stories of his childhood. How he learned to cook because his Appa and Amma told him it was as important as reading a book or learning math. Nilah giggled when he told her about the time he had added too much salt to his first sambar and tried to quietly pour it into the garden. 

“Everyone laughed, but they also cheered that I tried,” Appa said. “Mistakes make you better, Nilah. And when you know how to cook, you’ll always be able to take care of yourself and others. You can travel anywhere, and never feel helpless when you're hungry.” Nilah felt proud as she poured the chutney into a little steel bowl, licking the spoon and smiling wide. It tasted a little tangy, a little sweet, and a lot like victory.
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That evening, as they ate dosas with Nilah’s chutney, Nilah made a promise to herself. She would learn one dish every week with Appa. She wanted to be able to feed herself, her friends, even Amma when she was busy. Nilah realized that cooking wasn’t just a chore; it was a skill that made her stronger, healthier, and free. And maybe, just maybe, one day she would pass it on to someone else, the way Appa had passed it on to her.