#ghee market

[diyablog12]

Fresh Cow Milk Delivered to Your Door | Hills & Valleys

Experience the goodness of fresh, high-quality cow milk from Hills & Valleys. Our milk is sourced directly from trusted farms, ensuring purity and natural taste. Delivered fresh to your doorstep, it’s the perfect choice for a healthy and nutritious lifestyle. Order now and enjoy the best cow milk in town.

[vrinda]

From Ancient Wisdom to Modern Superfood: The Resurgence of Organic Desi Ghee

In the realm of nutrition, certain traditional foods have stood the test of time, transcending centuries to maintain their significance in modern diets. One such elixir that has been revered since ancient times is organic desi ghee. From its roots in ancient cultures to its resurgence as a modern superfood, organic desi ghee has captivated the interest of health enthusiasts and culinary connoisseurs alike.

Introduction

Ghee, a form of clarified butter, traces its origins back to ancient India, where it was not only cherished as a culinary ingredient but also held sacred in religious rituals and traditional medicine. The rich history of ghee speaks volumes about its profound cultural significance and nutritional prowess.

What is Organic Desi Ghee?

Organic desi ghee, derived from the milk of grass-fed cows, is a premium variant of traditional ghee. Unlike regular ghee, which may be sourced from various breeds of cows and produced using conventional methods, organic desi ghee is characterized by its purity, authenticity, and adherence to organic farming practices.

Health Benefits of Organic Desi Ghee

Organic desi ghee is renowned for its array of health benefits. Rich in essential fatty acids, vitamins, and antioxidants, it promotes digestive health, boosts immunity, and enhances skin and hair quality. Contrary to popular belief, moderate consumption of organic desi ghee can be part of a balanced diet and contribute to overall well-being.

Cultural Significance

In traditional Indian culture, desi ghee holds a sacred place, symbolizing purity, nourishment, and prosperity. It is an integral component of Ayurvedic medicine, revered for its healing properties and ability to balance the body's doshas. Moreover, ghee plays a pivotal role in rituals, ceremonies, and festive celebrations, signifying auspiciousness and abundance.

Modern Applications

In recent years, the versatility of organic desi ghee has expanded beyond traditional uses. It has found its way into contemporary kitchens, where it adds depth of flavor and nutritional value to various dishes. Additionally, organic desi ghee has gained popularity in the beauty industry, featuring prominently in skincare products renowned for their moisturizing and rejuvenating properties.

The Resurgence of Organic Desi Ghee

The resurgence of organic desi ghee can be attributed to a growing preference for natural, minimally processed foods. As consumers become more discerning about their dietary choices and health outcomes, there has been a renewed interest in traditional superfoods like organic desi ghee. Its revival signifies a return to ancient wisdom and a departure from synthetic substitutes.

How to Identify Authentic Organic Desi Ghee

When seeking genuine organic desi ghee, it is essential to look for certain quality indicators, such as a rich golden color, a distinct aroma, and a granular texture. Furthermore, reputable brands often carry certifications from recognized organic farming associations, providing assurance of their commitment to quality and sustainability.

Incorporating Organic Desi Ghee into Your Lifestyle

Whether used for cooking, baking, or skincare, organic desi ghee offers a multitude of applications. From indulgent recipes to nourishing beauty treatments, integrating organic desi ghee into your lifestyle can elevate both your culinary creations and your self-care routines.

Common Myths and Misconceptions

Despite its numerous health benefits, organic desi ghee has been subject to misconceptions, particularly regarding its saturated fat content and impact on cholesterol levels. However, scientific research has debunked these myths, highlighting the unique composition of ghee and its potential role in promoting cardiovascular health.

Environmental Impact

Supporting organic desi ghee not only benefits personal health but also contributes to environmental sustainability. By endorsing organic farming practices and supporting ethical dairy production, consumers can play a part in preserving natural ecosystems and fostering agricultural biodiversity.

Cost Considerations

While organic desi ghee may come at a slightly higher price point than regular ghee, its long-term health benefits far outweigh the initial investment. By prioritizing quality over quantity, consumers can prioritize their well-being and contribute to the demand for ethically sourced, nutrient-rich foods.

Testimonials and Reviews

Countless testimonials attest to the transformative effects of organic desi ghee on individuals' health and lifestyle. From improved digestion to radiant skin, the positive experiences shared by consumers serve as a testament to the enduring legacy of this ancient superfood.

Expert Opinions

Nutritionists and health experts endorse the inclusion of organic desi ghee in a balanced diet, emphasizing its role in supporting gut health, enhancing nutrient absorption, and promoting satiety. With its unique nutritional profile and culinary versatility, organic desi ghee has earned its place as a staple in modern wellness routines.

Future Trends

As the demand for organic and natural products continues to rise, the future of organic desi ghee appears promising. Innovations in production methods and packaging solutions are poised to make this traditional superfood more accessible and appealing to a wider audience, ensuring its enduring legacy for generations to come.

Conclusion

From its humble origins in ancient civilizations to its modern-day resurgence as a coveted superfood, organic desi ghee embodies the timeless wisdom of nature. As consumers rediscover the unparalleled benefits of this golden elixir, they embark on a journey of holistic well-being, guided by the wisdom of the ages and the promise of a healthier future.

FAQs

Is organic desi ghee suitable for lactose-intolerant individuals?

Organic desi ghee is lactose-free and can typically be consumed by individuals with lactose intolerance without adverse effects.

Can organic desi ghee be used for vegan cooking?

As ghee is derived from dairy, it is not suitable for vegan diets. However, there are plant-based alternatives available for vegan cooking and baking.

Does organic desi ghee have a high smoke point?

Yes, organic desi ghee has a high smoke point, making it suitable for various cooking methods, including frying and sautéing.

Is organic desi ghee shelf-stable?

When stored properly in a cool, dark place, organic desi ghee has a long shelf life and does not require refrigeration.

Can organic desi ghee be used for skincare?

Yes, organic desi ghee is prized for its moisturizing and nourishing properties and can be used as a natural skincare remedy for dry skin and hair.

[josephinejohnson]

Wholesale Ghee Supplier: Your Partner in Quality

Discover the unbeatable quality and affordability of our wholesale ghee supplier! With a focus on premium ingredients and impeccable standards, we're your trusted partner in delivering top-notch ghee products. Whether you're a restaurant, retailer, or food manufacturer, our wholesale offerings ensure you get the best value without compromising on taste or quality. Elevate your dishes and delight your customers with the finest ghee from our wholesale supplier today! Read more : https://milkio.co.nz/wholesale-ghee-suppliers/

[solangesmith48]

Crafting Excellence: Ghee Supplier Insights

Embark on your journey as a ghee supplier with confidence! This article offers essential insights to help you thrive in the competitive market. From understanding customer preferences to maintaining quality standards, discover the key factors that contribute to success as a ghee supplier. Whether you're a newcomer or an established player, embracing these tips will ensure you provide premium ghee products and build lasting partnerships with your customers.

Read more : https://milkio.co.nz/ghee-suppliers/

[amalashuor]

Things that were and had suddenly changed:

When cooking oil ran out from the market, we replaced it with ghee as an alternative. So the price of ghee increased ten times. When they hoarded sugar, we started to use vanilla extract instead until sugar ran out from the market.Instant coffee is blocked from entering, and the kind that is available is now very expensive. We turned to fresh coffee instead. They started skimping with fresh coffee and its price increased dramatically. Vegetables are expensive and practically nonexistent. We started to depend on canned food. Now the can of spoilt food, peas, beans, fava beans and chickpeas, is 7 shekels (2$)

My friends, I want to clarify something very important to you, which is that all the campaign money is spent and nothing is left. This post shows you the cost of living in Gaza.

Don't look at how much the campaign has earned, but look at how many people it has spent on and how much life costs in Gaza.

Thank you for any assistance you can provide. Time is of the essence! ❤️‍🩹🙏

@fairuzfan @el-shab-hussein @fairuzfan @90-ghost @feluka

@schoolhater @jehadism @irhabiya @sayruq @sar-soor

@mrala @scodoz @youngmanhattanite @clientsfromhell

@wlwaerith @miametropolis @jujusjunk @tamarrud

[healthyroots]

Pure Desi Ghee  - Our ghee is the purest and is extracted from the traditional Bilona method.

Extracted from Gir Cow Milk - Healthy Roots Ghee is extracted from rare Gir cows that are healthy and heightened.

No chemicals, No preservatives - Healthy Roots pure desi ghee is free from any chemical or preservatives and is fully packed with nutrients.

Rich in nutrients- Healthy Roots Ghee is rich in Vitamin A2, E, and D. It is also a good source of Omega 3. All these nutrients help us in maintaining a healthy lifestyle. 

[vikasgupta11]

A2 Ghee Market in India: Industry Trends, Share, Size, Growth, Opportunity and Forecast 2023-2028,” offers a comprehensive analysis of the industry, which comprises insights on the A2 Ghee Market in India.

[mrspiastri]

✴︎ jab we met 🧳

chapter 3. eat up, you’re gonna need it!

masterlist!

pairing: oscar piastri x reader (slight desi references but nothing too crazy)

cw: mental health issues, dysfunctional family, toxic relationships

wc: 5k words

an: this is so self indulgent but i do NOT care 😁

.° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡

Oscar sat at the dining table, feeling like he was about to face a boardroom interrogation—except instead of lawyers and businessmen, it was Y/N’s entire family, and instead of legal documents, the table was drowning in food.

And not just any food.

Steaming-hot sambar sat in a large bowl at the center, next to a fragrant serving of rasam that he already knew would burn his throat. A plate of hot, crispy dosas gleamed with ghee, accompanied by chutneys in shades of white, red, and green. There was a towering mound of lemon rice, a side of spicy potato roast, a clay pot filled with curd rice, and, at Y/N’s mother’s insistence, banana leaf-wrapped meen varuval—fried fish coated in bright red masala.

Oscar was in trouble.

“You look like you’ve seen war,” Y/N whispered beside him, tearing a dosa with one hand while stirring sambar with the other.

“I feel like I’m about to.”

Across the table, her father cleared his throat. “So, Oscar,” he started, voice deep, measuring. “You said you work for a business?”

Oscar sat up straighter. He knew this tone—this was the evaluation round. “Yeah, I handle operations for our company.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “And what does this company actually do?”

Oscar hesitated. Explaining corporate strategies to businessmen was one thing. Explaining it to Y/N’s father, who looked like he had no patience for corporate nonsense, was another.

Y/N, however, was not going to let him off the hook. She leaned in with an amused smirk. “Yes, Oscar, what do you actually do?”

Oscar exhaled. “We deal in automobile components—supply chains, logistics, development for major manufacturers. We work with brands across different markets.”

Her father hummed, unimpressed. “So, you sell car parts.”

Oscar blinked. “…Well, yes, but it’s—”

“And this requires an entire company?”

“Dad,” Y/N cut in, rolling her eyes. “That’s like saying a restaurant is just a place that fries things.”

Her father ignored her. “Do you even like this work?”

Oscar paused. He could feel Y/N watching him, waiting.

And for once, he answered honestly. “Not really.”

The entire table went silent.

Even Y/N looked surprised.

Her father leaned forward, intrigued now. “Then why do it?”

Oscar glanced down at his plate. He didn’t know how to explain it—how his father had left a mess, how he had been expected to fix it, how he had never really been asked what he wanted.

Y/N, ever perceptive, simply said, “Because it was expected of him.”

Her father studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Hmph. That’s not living, kid. That’s surviving.”

Oscar exhaled. “Yeah. I know.”

Y/N nudged him. “Eat. Existential crises later.”

He sighed, looking at the dosa on his plate. The problem was, he didn’t know how to eat this properly without a fork.

Y/N noticed. “Oh my God,” she muttered under her breath, then reached over and took his dosa, tearing it neatly.

“I can do it,” he protested.

“Clearly, you can’t,” she teased, dipping the dosa into coconut chutney before holding it up to his mouth.

Oscar gave her a look.

Y/N grinned. “Come on, richie rich. Open up.”

The entire table was watching.

Oscar groaned but obeyed, taking the bite. It was crispy, warm, buttery with ghee—and annoyingly perfect.

“Good?” she asked smugly.

“Shut up.”

Y/N’s grandmother beamed. “Good boy.”

Y/N gasped. “Excuse me?! I’ve been here for years and I’ve never gotten a ‘good girl’!”

Her father sighed. “Y/N, you eat like a wild animal. At least he’s trying.”

Oscar smirked, feeling victorious for all of three seconds before Y/N’s mother handed him a bowl of rasam rice.

“Eat this,” she said kindly.

He was about to pick up his spoon, but Y/N snatched it away. “Uh-uh. Hands only.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “You just like torturing me.”

“Yes,” she said sweetly.

With a resigned sigh, he attempted to scoop the rice with his fingers. But when he lifted it, the grains fell apart, slipping through his fingers.

Y/N nearly choked trying to hold in her laughter. “Oh my God. Pathetic.”

Her mother shook her head fondly. “Here, son, let me show you.”

Oscar—millionaire, businessman, fully grown adult—sat there as Y/N and her mother taught him how to eat rice with his hands.

“See? Just mix, scoop, and—” Y/N demonstrated, popping a bite of rasam rice into her mouth with ease.

Oscar sighed and tried again, managing to keep the rice together this time. He took a bite—

And immediately regretted everything.

His throat burned.

It was hot, peppery, hitting him all at once. He coughed, grabbing his water as Y/N cackled.

“I told you,” she gasped between laughs.

Her father, barely hiding his amusement, handed Oscar a glass of buttermilk. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Oscar took a sip, and the coolness instantly soothed the fire in his throat.

Her uncle, chuckling, shook his head. “Not bad. At least he didn’t run away.”

“Yet,” Oscar muttered.

Y/N, still laughing, placed a piece of banana leaf-wrapped fish on his plate. “Here. You’ll like this one.”

Oscar, trusting her for reasons unknown, took a bite.

And oh.

It was rich, slightly tangy from the marinade, the masala seeping into the perfectly cooked fish. The heat was just right, lingering but not overpowering.

He nodded in approval. “Okay. This is amazing.”

Her grandmother beamed. “Good boy.”

Y/N dropped her spoon. “Again?!”

Her father chuckled. “Well, he’s eating properly now. It’s an achievement.”

Oscar, exhausted but full, leaned back in his chair. He had survived.

Or so he thought—until Y/N’s mother placed a plate of sweet mysore pak in front of him.

“Eat more, Oscar,” she said warmly.

Y/N leaned closer, whispering, “You’re never getting out of this alive.”

Oscar sighed.

Honestly?

Maybe he didn’t want to.

🪻🪻🪻

By the time Oscar and Y/N made it to her room for the night, he was stuffed, exhausted, and questioning every life decision that had led him to this moment.

He had survived dinner. Barely.

But now, as he stood in the middle of Y/N’s childhood bedroom, taking in the mess of books, fairy lights, and an old corkboard pinned with pictures and ticket stubs, he realized—this wasn’t over.

“This is where we’re sleeping?” he asked, eyeing the single bed against the wall.

Y/N threw her duffel bag onto the chair and stretched her arms lazily. “I’m sleeping here. You’re sleeping on the floor.”

Oscar let out a dry laugh. “Of course I am.”

Y/N grinned, grabbing some clothes. “I’m going to take a shower. Don’t snoop around.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Oscar standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. He sighed, running a hand through his hair before unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. He glanced at the bed again.

One bed.

One very small bed.

He was never going to fit on that.

Looking around, he spotted an old mattress shoved to the side. With a resigned sigh, he dragged it onto the floor and grabbed a pillow from the bed, making himself as comfortable as possible.

Y/N returned a few minutes later, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and loose pajama pants, towel-drying her damp hair. She took one look at him sprawled on the mattress and burst into laughter.

“What?” he frowned.

“You look so out of place,” she giggled, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Like a lost boy who wandered into a sleepover.”

Oscar sighed. “I am a lost boy.”

She snorted. “Aww, poor thing.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, undoing the top button of his shirt. “Do you always keep your room this messy?”

Y/N glanced around at her room—the string lights, the half-open books, the Polaroids taped to the wall. “Yep. It’s home.”

Oscar didn’t say anything, just looked at her, at how at ease she was here.

“Do you ever stop thinking and just... exist?” she asked suddenly, tilting her head.

Oscar scoffed. “No.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and tossed a pillow at his face. “Figures.”

He caught it easily, setting it behind his head. “You’re the kind of person who falls asleep instantly, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” she said proudly. “I just close my eyes and poof—gone.”

Oscar sighed, glancing up at the ceiling. “I don’t think I’ve had a good night’s sleep in years.”

Y/N’s expression softened. “That’s... kind of sad.”

He shrugged. “It’s just how it is.”

For a moment, there was silence, just the faint hum of the fan and the occasional noise from outside.

Then, Y/N shifted, propping her chin on her palm. “Hey, Oscar?”

He turned his head slightly. “Yeah?”

She grinned. “If you do overthink everything, try overthinking this—you’re in a random town, sleeping on a mattress in a stranger’s house, after being force-fed by my family, with no idea what’s happening next.”

Oscar blinked.

Then let out a quiet laugh.

She was right. It was ridiculous.

Y/N yawned, flopping back onto her pillow. “Good night, rich boy.”

Oscar shook his head, exhaling. “Good night, menace.”

🪻🪻🪻

Oscar lay on the thin mattress, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.

It had been at least two hours since they had gone to bed.

Two hours of tossing, turning, and shifting on what might as well have been a concrete slab pretending to be a mattress. His pillow was too soft, the blanket was too thin, and no matter how much he adjusted, his body refused to relax.

He let out a slow exhale, staring up at the ceiling fan, its blades whirring in lazy circles. Outside, the faint hum of crickets filled the night, interrupted only by the occasional honk of a truck passing on the highway.

He turned onto his side. Then onto his back again. Then onto his other side.

Nothing.

Meanwhile, Y/N—the bane of his existence—had passed out the moment her head hit the pillow.

She was curled up on the tiny bed, tangled in her blanket, one arm hanging limply over the edge. Her breathing was soft, even, completely undisturbed. She had fallen asleep with the ease of someone who had never known a sleepless night in her life.

It was infuriating.

Another frustrated sigh left his lips.

Then—

“Stop moving.”

Oscar stilled. “You’re awake?”

Y/N groaned, her voice muffled against the pillow. “I wasn’t—until you started rolling around like a possessed ragdoll.”

Oscar frowned. “I’m not rolling around.”

“You are,” she grumbled, shifting slightly. “What’s your problem?”

“I can’t sleep.”

She cracked one eye open, peering at him in the dim light. “Try harder.”

Oscar huffed. “I am trying.”

She groaned dramatically. “What’s wrong? The floor too poor for your spoilt ass?”

“No,” he muttered. “It’s just... different. Too quiet.”

Y/N snorted. “Too quiet? That’s a problem?”

“Yes,” Oscar said flatly. “I grew up in a city. I’m used to background noise—cars, voices, something. This is just... empty.”

She blinked sleepily at him, then sighed, scooting over on the bed.

“Alright, come up here.”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“You obviously suck at sleeping alone,” she muttered, patting the empty space beside her. “So stop being annoying and get in the bed before you die of sleep deprivation.”

He hesitated. “There’s barely any space.”

“So?” She yawned. “We’ll fit.”

Oscar arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oscar, if you don’t get in this bed in the next five seconds, I will throw my pillow at you.”

He exhaled, debating his choices. The mattress on the floor had all the comfort of a pile of bricks, and at this rate, he wasn’t going to get any sleep at all.

With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. The space was small, barely enough for one person, let alone two.

“Lie down, idiot,” Y/N mumbled, already half-asleep again.

He gave her an unimpressed look but finally settled beside her, careful to keep a respectable amount of distance.

The bed creaked slightly under his weight.

There was a pause as they adjusted, shifting to get comfortable. The proximity was... noticeable. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, smell the faint scent of her shampoo—something floral and way too nice for a menace like her.

“This better not become a habit,” he muttered.

Y/N hummed sleepily. “No promises.”

Oscar scoffed, but as his body finally relaxed against the mattress, exhaustion creeping in, he realized—

For the first time in years, sleep actually came easy.

🪻🪻🪻

Oscar’s first thought upon waking up was that he was very warm.

His second thought was that something—no, someone—was pressed against him.

And his third thought, the one that sent his brain spiraling into a full-blown crisis, was that he was completely wrapped around Y/N.

His arm was curled tightly around her waist, fingers resting just under the hem of her shirt, where soft skin met fabric. His other hand was somehow beneath her head, buried in her hair. One of her legs was thrown over his, tangled together at the knee, locking them very much against each other. And worst of all—

She was clinging to him.

Her arm was snug around his torso, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, her breath warm against his skin. Her fingers, still curled slightly, had twisted into the fabric of his shirt like she had been holding on.

Oscar’s body locked up.

His heart slammed once, twice, three times against his ribs.

What the hell?

Slowly—very slowly—he tilted his head to look down at her.

Y/N was still fast asleep, lips parted slightly, her breathing soft and steady. Blissfully unaware of the fact that she had turned into a human octopus overnight.

Oscar swallowed hard.

He had three options.

1. Move. Untangle himself, escape before she woke up and saw them like this.

2. Do not move at all and pray to every higher power that she never woke up.

3. Die on the spot.

He barely had time to decide because—

“OH MY GOD!”

A chorus of voices erupted from the doorway.

Oscar’s soul left his body.

His head snapped up so fast he nearly crashed into Y/N’s.

At the entrance to the room, staring in absolute horror, was Y/N’s entire family.

Her mother, father, uncle, grandmother, two aunts, and a handful of younger cousins were all frozen in place, eyes wide, mouths slightly open, taking in the scene of absolute destruction before them.

Y/N, still half-asleep, made a tiny noise of protest, pressing closer.

Oscar internally screamed.

And then—

“Y/N.”

Her father’s voice was deadly.

Oscar’s entire body locked up.

Y/N finally blinked awake, groggy and confused. She let out a small hum, rubbing her eyes. “Why is everyone being so loud—”

Then she felt it.

The hard chest beneath her palm.
The arm tight around her waist.
The leg very much tangled with hers.

Her body froze.

And then, like a slow-motion horror movie, she turned her head—

Saw the crowd of judgmental onlookers at the door—

Saw her father’s murderous expression—

Then finally realized that she was practically draped over Oscar like a human blanket.

There was exactly one second of silence before—

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

She shoved him.

Oscar barely had time to react before he rolled right off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud THUD.

“OW—”

Her grandmother let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest. “Oh God! In my own house!”

Her younger cousin gasped. “Did you guys elope?!”

“WHAT?!” Y/N whipped around so fast she nearly fell off the bed. “NO—OH MY GOD—NO!”

Oscar groaned from the floor, rubbing his back. “I think I broke something.”

Her father took a menacing step forward, voice dangerously low. “What. Is. This?”

Y/N flailed her arms, wildly shaking her head. “NOTHING! I CAN EXPLAIN!”

Her mother gasped. “So there is something to explain?!”

“NO—YES—WAIT—” Y/N clutched her head, looking completely deranged. “He couldn’t sleep!”

Her father’s jaw clenched. “So you invited him into your bed?!”

Oscar, knowing his life depended on his response, quickly sat up. “I was forced! I swear!”

Her father advanced toward him. “FORCED?!”

Y/N kicked Oscar’s leg. “OH MY GOD, don’t make it sound worse!”

Oscar winced. “I meant—I couldn’t sleep on the floor! She said to get on the bed! And then—I don’t know what happened after that!”

Her aunt covered her mouth, looking thrilled. “This is so scandalous.”

Her grandmother whimpered. “I need holy water.”

One of her cousins whispered loudly, “I think they’re in love.”

Y/N’s mother exhaled dramatically. “Beta, at least marry first.”

“WHAT?!”

Her uncle, clearly enjoying Oscar’s suffering, clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Better get a ring, son.”

And then—just like that—her entire family slowly filed out of the room, muttering to each other.

Leaving behind the biggest disaster of Oscar’s entire existence.

Y/N stared blankly at the door.

Oscar collapsed back onto the mattress.

Then—

Y/N whipped toward him. “THIS IS YOUR FAULT.”

Oscar let out a breathless, hysterical laugh. “How the hell is this my fault?!”

“You let me cling to you in my sleep!”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

Y/N groaned, covering her face. “Oh my God, I have to live with these people.”

Oscar smirked, rubbing his face. “You did threaten me last night.”

Y/N stilled.

Then gasped, eyes widening.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “They totally think we’re engaged.”

Oscar sighed, flopping back onto the floor. “Fantastic. I hope you’re happy, fiancée.”

Y/N picked up a pillow and smacked him in the face.

🪻🪻🪻

Oscar sat at the dining table, elbows resting on the wood, mentally preparing himself for war.

After the absolute catastrophe of this morning, he had barely managed to escape Y/N’s room before being dragged to breakfast by her mother. Now, he was sitting stiffly across from her father, who had yet to blink at him even once.

Y/N sat beside Oscar, looking tense, arms crossed over her chest, visibly bracing herself.

The table was full, just like last night, but this time, the atmosphere was different.

More… charged.

Her grandmother sat on one side, drinking chai like she was watching a soap opera. Her mother busied herself serving food, but the small smile playing at her lips said she was enjoying this too much. Her uncle, aunts, and cousins were all present, sneaking glances at Oscar like he was the subject of a heated debate.

And her father?

He sat at the head of the table, arms firmly crossed, watching Oscar like he was an insect under a microscope.

“So,” her father said, voice calm—too calm. “Oscar.”

Oscar resisted the urge to straighten his spine like he was in a military trial. “Yes, sir?”

Her father leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “How long have you and Y/N been together?”

Oscar choked on air.

Y/N gasped. “WHAT?!”

Her uncle hummed thoughtfully. “Good question, actually.”

Her mother nodded along, placing a plate of steaming upma in front of Oscar. “Yes, son. Tell us. When did this start?”

Y/N’s face turned red. “IT DIDN’T START. BECAUSE THERE’S NOTHING TO START.”

Her grandmother ignored her completely. “Did you propose yet?” she asked, looking far too interested.

Oscar, who had not even fully processed waking up in her bed yet, blinked. “What?”

Her younger cousin gasped. “Are you guys secretly engaged?!”

Y/N whipped around to Oscar. “SAY SOMETHING!”

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak. “Uh, no. We’re not… together.”

Silence.

Her father raised an eyebrow. “Then why were you wrapped around my daughter this morning?”

Oscar froze.

Y/N froze.

Her mother hummed thoughtfully. “It did look very cozy.”

Oscar felt his soul leave his body.

Y/N groaned into her hands. “Can we NOT talk about this at breakfast?”

Her uncle ignored her completely. “Oscar, beta, let me give you some advice. If you’re going to sneak into a girl’s bed, at least wake up before her family catches you.”

Oscar wanted to die.

Y/N screamed into her hands. “HE DIDN’T SNEAK IN! I TOLD HIM TO SLEEP THERE!”

Her father’s jaw clenched. “You told him?”

Y/N paused. “Wait. That sounded bad.”

Oscar ran a hand down his face. “For the record, I was on the floor. At first.”

Her grandmother tsked. “Why would you make the poor boy sleep on the floor? Just sleep next to him like a proper wife.”

Y/N slammed her forehead against the table. “OH MY GOD, Ajji, PLEASE.”

Oscar coughed violently, grabbing his water.

Her younger cousin beamed. “So you will marry him?”

“NO!” Y/N wailed.

Her mother gave her a pointed look. “Y/N, don’t shout at the dining table.”

Y/N groaned into her hands.

Oscar—who had faced corporate nightmares, million-dollar lawsuits, and high-pressure negotiations—was completely out of his depth.

“Okay, okay,” he finally said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s clear this up.” He turned to her father, the real threat in the room. “Sir, I respect your daughter a lot. Nothing happened last night. It was purely accidental—I promise.”

Her father stared at him for a long, long moment.

Oscar swore he could hear his own heartbeat.

And then—

Her father sighed. “Hmph.”

Y/N peeked up cautiously. “Hmph… what?”

Her father picked up his tea. “At least he’s honest.”

Silence.

Then her mother clapped her hands together cheerfully. “Well, now that that’s settled, eat! Before the food gets cold.”

Y/N collapsed into her seat, exhaling in relief.

Oscar, still slightly traumatized, grabbed his spoon, desperate for a distraction.

But just as he took a bite, her grandmother leaned in closer, voice conspiratorial.

“So when are you proposing?”

Oscar choked violently.

Oscar barely managed to recover from choking on his upma before Y/N slammed her hand on the table, glaring at her grandmother like she had just suggested world war.

“Ajji, enough!” Y/N groaned, rubbing her temples. “He’s not proposing! We’re not together! He’s just—” She waved a hand at Oscar, searching for the right words. “A nuisance who got stuck with me on accident!”

Oscar, mid-sip of water, raised an eyebrow. “Wow. That’s the most romantic description of our situation.”

Her uncle smirked. “You two bicker like an old married couple.”

Y/N whipped around. “Stop encouraging them!”

Her grandmother, completely ignoring her, turned to Oscar with a warm smile. “Beta, don’t let this one boss you around too much. She’s always been stubborn. But I can tell she likes you.”

Oscar, still shell-shocked from the last fifteen minutes, blinked. “Uh.”

Her father finally sighed, setting down his tea. “Enough of this nonsense.” He turned to Oscar with his usual scrutinizing gaze. “You say nothing happened. Fine. I’ll believe you.”

Oscar exhaled in relief—only to immediately tense up at her father’s next words.

“But tell me something, Oscar,” he continued, taking a measured sip of chai. “What exactly do you plan to do now?”

Oscar blinked. “Uh… excuse me?”

Her father leaned forward slightly. “You have spent days traveling with my daughter, stayed in my home, and now my entire family is convinced you’re in a relationship with her.” He set his cup down with a thud. “So what now?”

Oscar froze.

He had not thought that far ahead.

Hell, up until last night, he had been running on pure survival instinct.

Before he could even attempt a response, Y/N scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “What do you mean ‘what now’? Nothing! He’ll just leave in a few days.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “And that’s it?”

“Yes!” Y/N gestured wildly at Oscar. “He’s not my boyfriend! He’s just some guy who got stuck on a train with me!”

Her grandmother shook her head. “Ah, beta… so naïve. First, he’s just some guy. Next thing you know, wedding bells.”

Y/N nearly threw her spoon at the woman.

Oscar, for the first time ever, felt genuine sympathy for her.

“This is ridiculous,” Y/N grumbled, shoving a spoon of food into her mouth like it was the only thing keeping her sane. “We’re not getting married.”

Her uncle chuckled, stirring his coffee. “We’ll see.”

Y/N groaned, slamming her forehead onto the table.

Oscar—who had survived corporate warfare but was currently losing to an old Indian grandmother—ran a hand down his face. “Can we please talk about something else?”

Her mother smiled sweetly. “Of course, son.”

Finally. A break.

And then—

Her father narrowed his eyes. “What did you say your company does again?”

Oscar’s spoon clattered onto his plate.

Y/N, still face-down on the table, muffled a laugh.

“Oh,” her uncle smirked. “This should be fun.”

And just like that, Oscar realized—

Breakfast was far from over.

🪻🪻🪻

Oscar knew Y/N had a boyfriend.

She had mentioned him a few times—offhandedly, casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. But the fact that she even hadsomeone waiting for her made no sense to him.

Because how could someone like her belong to just one person?

She was a storm, dragging people along in her chaos, never staying in one place long enough to be tied down. She talked to strangers like old friends, threw herself into situations without hesitation, and had absolutely no sense of self-preservation.

She was impossible to contain.

And yet, apparently, some guy had managed to do exactly that.

Oscar tried not to think about it.

Tried to ignore the way it bothered him, even though it shouldn’t.

Because it didn’t matter.

It wasn’t like he liked her.

(Right?)

But then, Y/N marched up to him one evening, eyes alight with mischief, hands on her hips, and said—

“I’m running away.”

Oscar blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Y/N grinned. “I’m leaving. And you’re coming with me.”

Oscar exhaled, already exhausted. “Oh my God. What now?”

She bounced on her heels, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m going to see my boyfriend.”

And there it was.

A stupid, stupid feeling twisted in his chest—one that he refused to name.

Oscar let out a short, humorless laugh, crossing his arms. “Since when do you need to run away to meet him?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Since my entire family decided they wanted me to marry you.”

Oscar winced. Right. That.

After the absolute nightmare of this morning, where her family had basically planned their wedding, he could see why she was desperate to escape.

Still.

He didn’t have to like the alternative.

He cleared his throat, forcing his expression into neutral disinterest. “And what exactly do you need me for?”

She gasped, grabbing his hands dramatically. “Oscar, I need you.”

His stupid heart stuttered, before his brain kicked in and reminded him that she was full of shit.

He pried his hands out of hers immediately. “That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.”

She groaned, stepping back. “Ugh, you’re no fun.”

Oscar huffed. “And you’re insane.”

She poked his shoulder. “Come on. You need to get out of here too, don’t you?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why the hell would I help you run away to some guy?”

Y/N smirked. “Oh? Some guy?”

Oscar froze.

Shit.

“That’s not what I—” He scowled, turning away. “Whatever.”

She giggled, delighted. “Oscar, are you jealous?”

“No.” Too fast.

“Oh my God.” She grinned.

“I said no.”

She gasped, clutching her chest. “Oscar Piastri. Do you like me?”

He turned back to her, deadpan. “I will actually leave you in a ditch.”

She laughed, grabbing his wrist before he could walk away. “Come on, Oscar. Run away with me.”

Oscar exhaled harshly, looking up at the sky like it would give him the patience to deal with her.

And then, reluctantly, stupidly, he said—

“…Fine.”

🪻🪻🪻

Sneaking out of a house filled with her entire family was not the smartest idea.

Especially not when that family had already caught them tangled up in bed together that morning.

Oscar had never been interrogated like that in his life.

But now, he was standing by the window of Y/N’s bedroom, watching as she shoved a ridiculous amount of clothes into a backpack.

“Are you seriously packing like we’re going on vacation?” he whispered, incredulous.

“I’m running away, not becoming a hermit, Oscar,” she shot back. “What do you expect me to do? Walk around in the same clothes for days?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

She ignored him, stuffing a bottle of perfume into the bag.

Oscar sighed and turned back to the window. The house was dark, but he could hear distant voices from the other rooms—her family was still awake.

“Are you sure about this?” he muttered.

Y/N zipped up her bag. “Of course.”

Oscar hesitated. He didn’t know why he was still stalling. He had agreed, hadn’t he?

But something about this felt wrong.

Like once they left, things would change.

Like he was losing something before he even had it.

Before he could dwell on it, Y/N grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the window.

“Come on,” she whispered, swinging a leg over the ledge.

Oscar stared at her, horrified. “You want me to climb out of the window?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize that’s probably going to break a few bones right?”

She gasped. “You’re so boring.”

“Boring is safe.”

“Boring is lame.”

Oscar groaned. “Why do I let you make the decisions?”

She grinned. “Because I’m always right.”

Before he could protest, she jumped.

Oscar’s heart stopped for a split second before he heard her soft landing on the grass below.

“See?” she whisper-shouted. “Easy!”

Oscar muttered a string of curses, then—begrudgingly—climbed out after her.

The night air was warm and thick, cicadas buzzing in the background as they crouched in the shadows.

“You got a plan?” Oscar whispered.

She grinned. “Nope.”

He closed his eyes, counted to ten.

“Is what I would have said before. I rented us a car to drive down to Coorg. The good news is you’ll be driving us.”

This was going to be hell.

And yet, when she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the night, he didn’t let go.

oscar getting bullied into drinking rasam is a huge part of this entire chapter. my fav part actually. he will learn to enjoy it eventually stay tuned :p

[radianttulsibabe]

Since I was asked about if I like to bake, and baking generally requires eggs, which my household generally only eats if they are gifted for us or we are caring for chickens with excess egg production- I will share how I make kheer- we usually have the ingredients for kheer. As both my husband and I come from cattle families we consume a good amount of milk in our home. We either get the milk from a local dairy or at the local market. One of our house cats is from a dairy farm- cows, goats, and sheep are a very large piece of our life together.

I like things simple- Many parts of my day require my full attention, so when I do cook, I tend to only make simple foods. Kheer is one of those simple foods that I personally enjoy.

This is how I make kheer- everyone is different, every region makes it a little differently. My mom would make it for me this way, so this is how I make it-but everyone's mom probably makes it a little different, that doesn't make your kheer or my kheer any less authentic it just makes it special to your family.

Ingredients:

cooked rice (left over or fresh...I usually use leftover from dinner because I typically make kheer in the middle of the night...so ours usually has cumin in it...but you do what ever you do it's not an exact science)

Milk

Ghee or regular butter

Sugar or Jaggery or whatever sweetener you choose

When I do measure, I scale that to the amount of rice so 1c rice is 1c milk 1 c sugar 1 TB Ghee (usually more but I go conservative on typed recipes because I usually find the hubsy eating it on the sofa when I am looking for it...)...but also we don't always have one cup of everything because I don't always keep the pantry in my kitchenette stocked for middle of the night emergencies and I generally don't want to go to storage in my nightrobe to get the bigger bags/boxes opened...so just do what feels right...make sure the ghee doesn't smoke and the rice doesn't burn and you should be fine.

extras to add if you want:

cashews, almonds, raisins, amla, fresh berries, coconut, a couple saffron strands (if you can afford/you want to be extra fancy)

Instructions:

in a sauce pot add ghee and the cooked rice

warm up the ghee and rice until the rice is covered in ghee

add milk

mix in the sugar until it feels right (?) I don't know I just do it lol

Sometimes I like it more solid, sometimes I like it a little more runny it's all good so whatever you like. My mom was super methodical and made it the same every time when I was growing up. It was also the same consistency somewhere between sticky rice and creamy. but I'm a bit more go with the flow and don't use instructions so I'm generally happy with all styles. We have friends that put vermicelli in theirs and it's more soupy and that's super tasty too.

Once it's the consistency you like, take it off the heat and mix in the extras if you have them/want them. serve hot or let it cool honestly it's good both ways...I like mine with fresh fruit that's in season but that's only if it's in season.

As far as shelf life, I don't even know how long it stores because it's usually gone before we can put it into the chiller...at the market they say fresh and chilled can last a week. there is also frozen you can buy but that feels wrong to me...frozen kheer? idk it just doesn't sit right... @cybertimetravelrunaway teases me every time he sees it that I should buy the frozen for kheer emergencies and I never know what to say except probably we shouldn't do that because frozen is confusing to me...so maybe don't freeze it just eat it and be happy or not happy- whatever you want to be, but I've never been angry eating kheer so maybe it will help your depression too! Just remember to eat with moderation. We love our pancreases and appreciate that they provide us with the insulin we need to keep our bodies strong. We want to build healthy food habits for the future so we can live long lives. Eating adequate protein with our carbohydrates helps us to keep a balanced blood sugar and BP :)

If you made it through that and are still sticking around, I'd love to hear about your relationship with kheer! It really is my favorite food- in all its glorious forms- and I love to know how others enjoy it!

Have a lovely start to your week!

<3 Rukmini

[rambheem-is-real]

Cross My Heart Pt 3

pairing: varadeva

pt 2 here

surprise they're not dead

-

Varadha gently strokes down the side of Deva’s face with one hand, smiling at how peaceful Deva looks in his arms, using his other hand to shield Deva’s face from the rays of the sun. He briefly notices a few new wrinkles forming around Deva’s eyes, and can’t help the satisfaction that the sight causes him. 

The movement stirs Deva into waking up from his nap. Varadha watches as Deva blinks a few times, adjusting to the brightness, then yawns. He can’t take it anymore, and drops a small kiss onto Deva’s greying hairline, shifting so he’s in Deva’s view. 

“Na Kumbhakarnudi nidra aipoyinda? [Is my Kumbhakaranudu’s sleep over?]” 

Deva rolls his eyes at him. “You were the one who told me to take a nap and now you insult me like this? What has this world come to?” Despite the words, his tone is light and teasing. Deva juts his chin forward, and Varadha obliges, leaning down for a proper kiss. 

“Not just the nap,” Varadha laughs, when he eventually pulls back. “Who asked for a fourth dosa this morning? With extra karam podi? Now we’ve run out of your favorite podi, and I have to go to the market again.” 

Deva just gives him that small smile of his, that Varadha adores so much, that Deva knows Varadha adores so much. “Not you complaining when we both know you love gossiping with the rava mill elders on your way back.”

Varadha shakes his head. “Caught. I’ll tell you all about what I learned when I come back home, then.”

“I’ll be waiting for it.” 

He moves Deva off of himself, and lightly stretches before standing up. Deva watches from the ground, and Varadha smirks as he notices the glint in Deva’s eyes. 

“See something you like?” he teases. 

Deva’s face softens. “Something I love, actually,” he replies, and Varadha blushes. 

“Alright, alright. Time to go back home, Amma will be waiting.” 

Deva waits for a few seconds as Varadha comes back with the wheelchair, then holds his arms up so Varadha can lift him and place him in the seat of the wheelchair. Deva’s hands only shake slightly as he buckles himself up and maneuvers himself around to face the stone path leading out of the flower field. Varadha follows Deva along the path back home, the two of them continuing to bicker about the dosas. 

Varadha had remembered the promise he made to Deva as kids, remembered vowing to take care of an injured Deva no matter how long it was in the future. And he had had no intention of breaking that promise. 

In the years after the trial in Khansaar, Deva had slowly started to lose control of his muscles, to the point where Varadha had bought Deva a wheelchair for long distance travel, basically anything that wasn’t a few feet around the house. They had many accidents, as well. One time Deva’s hand was shaking too hard to hold the jar of ghee tightly, and he had dropped the jar on the floor, spilling the contents everywhere. Another time Deva tried to stand up too quickly from their bed and his legs gave out, knocking over a vase on the nightstand. Both times, he had whispered, “Sorry raa,” with a face so full of guilt it devastated Varadha. This Deva had grown up blaming himself for everything, internalizing that he would be nothing but a burden to those who loved and cared for him, and Varadha was determined to show Deva how wrong he was. 

They reach home, still bickering, although now they’ve graduated to arguing over which condiment was best for idli, Deva disagreeing with Varadha on his preference for peanut chutney and extolling the virtues of a hot sambar. 

Amma smiles at them as they enter the house, seemingly busy with grinding some powders on the floor. Her hair is thinning, almost entirely white, and she’s gained a stoop over the last few years. However, Varadha’s glad he gets to see Amma like this, to see her age naturally rather than stay as pristine and regal as she was in his childhood. He wants to make so many new memories with her and Deva.  

Deva wheels himself to his and Varadha’s room, and Varadha follows. He parks the wheelchair at the side of the bed, and unbuckles himself. Varadha watches, on alert and ready to catch Deva if he falls, but Deva walks over to the bed easily enough, sighing as he sits down on the mattress. He looks up at Varadha sheepishly. 

“I guess the fresh air did help, I feel better than I did this morning.”

Varadha smirks. “I told you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, yes, you’re always right,” Deva teases. 

“I know that,” Varadha replies, grinning at Deva’s laugh. 

He takes a moment to observe his husband. Deva’s face has become lined with wrinkles, and Varadha’s especially proud of the smile marks near his eyes. His hair is peppered through with streaks of gray, thinning near his temples, and his skin has softened. The old scars running across Deva’s shoulders and down his arms have faded to a dull brown. Varadha loves him so much, still thinks Deva is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. He doesn’t know how he made it through those seven years without Deva, especially so soon after he had just gotten Deva back after twenty-five years of separation. 

Varadha had hated him in the moment he had found Deva crouching near the body of his little brother, hands stained with Baachi’s blood. In a fit of grief, he had told Deva to leave, to never show his face again, and Deva, too horrified to argue and tell Varadha what had really happened, left Khansaar that day. In the next few years, Varadha had warred with both guilt and rage, and then later, confusion. The facts didn’t add up, why would Deva hurt Baachi of all people? Varadha had tried his best to forget Deva, tried to move on, but he knew deep down that the pain of losing Deva was even worse than Deva’s betrayal. And when Deva himself came back, seven years later? Varadha knew he had to find out what really happened that day. He stormed into the cell, looked at Deva sitting on the bench with his arms chained up, and demanded to know the truth. Deva had explained what happened, eyes closed, voice soft, and oh, Varadha really felt like a fool. Deva hadn’t hurt Baachi, that had been Bhaarava, who Deva had disposed of shortly after. 

“Yedava [idiot],” Varadha had said, tears threatening to slip down his face. “Why didn’t you tell me when I yelled at you? When I assumed it had been you that killed my brother?”

Deva opened his eyes, not bothering to stop his own tears. “I promised you,” He had whispered. “I promised to protect Baachi, and I failed. I was too late, I was too slow, to stop Bhaarava’s blade.”

Varadha couldn’t hold himself back anymore, and embraced Deva, who buried his face into Varadha’s stomach, sobbing. 

“I’m so sorry,” was the only thing Deva kept repeating, and Varadha could only shush him soothingly. His mind was racing, however. Deva was not responsible for Baachi’s death, he really was innocent. No way in hell was Varadha going to let his own men execute Deva now. He pulled back from Deva, just enough for Deva to rest his chin on Varadha’s chest, eyes full of misplaced guilt and grief. 

Varadha stroked through Deva’s hair, thinking. He couldn’t not go through with the execution, Deva had in fact broken the seal and his own rule. He had sworn to be fair and responsible when he had assumed Khansaar’s throne, and he couldn’t go back on his own vows. But he couldn’t kill Deva either. 

Oh. 

“I have a plan. Will you come with me?” Varadha asked Deva. 

Deva didn’t ask what this was about, didn’t raise any objections. “Anywhere,” he said, and Varadha felt the same overwhelming love he felt when Deva had chopped off Naarang’s head for him. Of course Deva would come with him, he would follow Varadha to the ends of the Earth if Varadha asked. 

Varadha smiled down at Deva, who he could tell was getting increasingly confused at the shift in Varadha’s behavior, but he couldn’t help it. He really had missed Deva’s love. 

“In a few minutes, Bilal is going to come down here. Listen to him, do whatever he tells you,” he had told Deva, before he walked out of the cells, thinking about the two executions he would be faking soon. 

Varadha’s roused out of the memory when Deva pokes his chest. “Entra [what dude], what are we thinking about, so deeply right now?” Varadha allows Deva to pull him into his lap and wrap his arms around Varadha’s waist. 

“Just Bilal, and the Khansaar I left behind.” Deva’s face softens, and Varadha knows he understands. Varadha had taken his duties as karta seriously, and Deva knew that Varadha often felt guilty for abandoning his people so suddenly. 

“Do you want to visit?” he asks, but Varadha shakes his head, smiling.

“I have everything I need right here, why would I go back?” He kisses Deva’s brow, and then when Deva still looks guilty, the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I have to tell you raa, you have always been my first priority.” 

Deva looks to the side. “If it hadn’t been for my condition, we could be in Khansaar right now. You could’ve worked something out about the seal, and you would’ve still been in the position you wanted so deeply. And I wouldn’t be useless right now.” 

Varadha’s heart sinks. He knows there’s still a lot of work to be done, a lot of internalized thoughts Deva has to work through, and he has to remind himself to be patient. “Rey. Bujji. Bangaram,” he says, pulling Deva by the jaw to face Varadha again, noticing the faint blush on Deva’s cheeks from the nicknames. “I know you like to pretend you’re some Devadas, filled with so much love for me that you’re willing to do anything for me, but consider just once that it goes the other way as well. And you’re not useless. I’m here because I care for you, and I’m going to stay with you until the end.” He leans in to kiss Deva’s lips, pushing all the affection he can muster into the kiss. 

They stay together for a few moments, and then Deva pulls back first, sighing. “I know you love me, you’ve told me many times. But..”

“You’re not able to believe it,” Varadha finishes. Deva nods, frustrated. “Well, we still have a few more decades to go, ‘till death do us part’ and all that.” They both grin at each other at the memory of their elopement, and the chaotic way they had gotten married, mixing traditions from around the world as neither of them felt religious enough to do the standard Hindu wedding. “I’ll get through to you one day.” 

It’s Deva that initiates the kiss this time, and deepens it as well. Varadha moans as Deva licks inside his mouth, and feels the familiar heat stir up in his groin. It’s when Deva’s fingers snake inside Varadha’s kurta, feeling their way around his waist and up his back, when Varadha remembers he has a job to do. Sighing internally, he pulls back, placing a finger on Deva’s lips when he chases Varadha instinctively. 

“Podi, remember?” Deva pouts, but lets go of Varadha, who stands up. “I’ll be back soon raa.”

“No you won’t, you’ll spend ten minutes talking to the elders on your way back,” Deva teases, and gets flicked for that. Laughing, Varadha makes his way out of the room, running into Amma. 

“I’ll be going to the market for the podi, Amma,” he tells her. 

She frowns, thinking. “I think we’re out of curry leaves as well. Could you get some of those as well?”

“Of course, Amma.”

-

During dinner, as he waves Amma off from serving them both, volunteering to do it instead, then playfully stealing the last appalam off Deva’s plate and hiding behind Amma so Deva can’t reach him, Varadha thinks everything he had gone through was worth it if it ended like this. He’s never felt as happy after the Shouryanga massacre as he does now, always stuck in survival mode or suffering from the weight of his responsibilities. As he looks at Deva pouting at Amma, saying how unfair it was that Varadha got to take his appalam, that he was taking advantage of a disabled man, and Amma hiding her smile at her son’s antics, Varadha’s only regret is that the remaining members of their family couldn’t be here today. 

Amma would have loved to spoil Baachi, he thinks. Dhaara would have adored his brother as well, probably taking him for piggyback rides the way he had done with a young Varadha. He swallows, suddenly feeling the decades old grief return. I hope they both are happy, wherever they are, Varadha thinks, sending a prayer to whatever cosmic entity might be listening. 

Amma notices Varadha’s silence, and tuts. “Oh, is the pappu not good? Is it too spicy again?”

Varadha just shakes his head. He knows there are tears in his eyes when he replies, “It’s perfect, Amma.”

Amma seems to understand who Varadha is thinking of, and pats his head, smoothing the hair back. “I miss him too, kanna [little one]. But I’m glad you both are with me now.” She sends a loving look to Deva, who, even after a few years of reconciling with his mother, looks surprised at the affection. “My two sons, back with me.” 

-

Later that night, he carries Deva back to their room, tucking him in and getting into bed as well. 

“-so it turns out he wasn’t having an affair at all, he just lost a fight with a cat and wasn’t about to admit to the scars being from the cat,” Varadha finishes telling Deva all the gossip the elders had told him. 

Deva laughs. “Cats are fearsome creatures, I don’t know why he’s pretending like his ego is bruised or something.”

“Exactly. Now his wife left him and his kids hate him.”

Deva makes a sympathetic sound, but continues. “Well, it’s his fault that both of those happened.”

“Speaking of little animals…” It’s mostly dark in the room, but Varadha shifts so his face is illuminated by the few orange rays of light coming through the window, and makes his eyes wide as possible. He knows how irresistible Deva finds the cute act on him, and makes sure to turn up the pout to an extreme. “We should get that dog we were talking about.”

Deva blinks at him, clearly disarmed. “The dog you wanted when you were six?”

“Yep. You said we could have one when we were older and living together. Now we’re older and are living together. What’s stopping us?”

Deva sighs, but Varadha can make out the faint smile, and smirks. His act had worked. “Alright, you can go to the pet store tomorrow and pick out whatever dog you want,” Deva says. “Now come here so I can spoon you.”

“You’re too hot, I always wake up sweaty,” Varadha whines, but they both know it’s an empty complaint as Varadha immediately turns to let Deva cuddle his back. 

“You love it though,” a sleepy Deva mumbles. “Cause you love me.”  Varadha stills, but a few minutes later all he can hear is Deva’s snores. He smiles as he closes his eyes as well. Well that was progress, he thinks, as he falls asleep.

-

tagging those who interacted with pt 2: @coolsoundingusername @recentinterest @stuckyandlarrystuff @illusions-of-serendipity

[ladygem1ni]

had a dream i was in Brazil/some South American country in a lovely colorful market looking for ghee. after finding the ghee i went home to a gorgeous spacious studio, full of art & sunshine…

[vrinda]

Revitalize Your Health: Why Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee Should Be Your Daily Essential!

Introduction:

In today's fast-paced world, maintaining good health is more important than ever. With numerous health products flooding the market, it's essential to discern which ones truly deliver on their promises. One such product gaining popularity for its remarkable health benefits is Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee. This article explores the reasons why Desi Ghee should be a daily essential in your life, offering insights into its nutritional value, health benefits, and practical applications.

The Nutritional Powerhouse of Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee

Desi Ghee is renowned for its rich nutritional profile, packed with essential vitamins and minerals. Unlike conventional ghee, which may be sourced from mixed breeds of cows, Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee comes from purebred Gir cows, ensuring superior quality and nutritional content. Let's delve into the nutritional benefits that make this ghee a powerhouse for your health.

Health Benefits of Desi Cow A2 Ghee

Enhances Digestive Health: Desi Cow A2 Ghee contains butyric acid, which aids in digestion and promotes gut health.

Boosts Immunity: With its high concentration of vitamins A, D, E, and K, Desi Cow A2 Ghee strengthens the immune system, helping the body fight off infections and diseases.

Supports Heart Health: Contrary to popular belief, moderate consumption of Desi Cow A2 Ghee can improve cholesterol levels and reduce the risk of heart disease.

Promotes Weight Loss: Despite being calorie-dense, Desi Cow A2 Ghee contains medium-chain fatty acids that promote fat metabolism, making it a valuable addition to weight loss diets.

Incorporating Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee into Your Daily Routine

Now that we've explored the myriad health benefits of Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee, let's discuss practical ways to incorporate this superfood into your daily routine.

Cooking and Baking:

Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee's high smoke point makes it ideal for cooking and baking. Use it for sautéing vegetables, frying eggs, or as a replacement for butter in baked goods for a rich, nutty flavor.

Bulletproof Coffee:

Upgrade your morning brew by adding a spoonful of Desi Ghee to your coffee. This creamy concoction provides sustained energy and mental clarity throughout the day.

Ayurvedic Remedies:

In Ayurveda, Desi Ghee is revered for its therapeutic properties. Incorporate it into traditional remedies such as golden milk or apply it topically for skincare benefits.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, Desi Ghee is not just a culinary delight but also a potent elixir for good health. Its myriad health benefits, coupled with its delicious flavor, make it a valuable addition to any diet. Whether used for cooking, baking, or therapeutic purposes, incorporating Desi Ghee into your daily routine can help revitalize your health and well-being.

FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions)

Is Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee suitable for lactose intolerant individuals? 

Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee is clarified butter, which means it contains negligible amounts of lactose and casein. Therefore, it is generally well-tolerated by lactose intolerant individuals.

2. How does Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee differ from regular ghee?

Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee is sourced from purebred Gir cows known for producing A2 milk, whereas regular ghee may come from mixed breeds. The unique genetic makeup of Gir cows yields ghee with superior nutritional value and flavor.

3. Can Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee be used for skincare? 

Yes, Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee is beneficial for skincare due to its moisturizing and nourishing properties. It can be applied topically to hydrate dry skin, soothe irritation, and promote a healthy complexion.

4. Does Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee have a strong taste? 

Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee has a rich, nutty flavor that enhances the taste of dishes without overpowering them. Its subtle aroma and taste complement both sweet and savory recipes.

5. Is Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee safe for consumption by children? 

Yes, Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee is safe for children and is often recommended for its nutritional benefits. However, moderation is key, as with any food, to maintain a balanced diet.

6. Where can I purchase authentic Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee?

 Authentic Desi Gir Cow A2 Ghee can be purchased from certified dairy farms or reputable online retailers specializing in organic and artisanal dairy products.

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His Mothers Pongal Recipe

I was adamant to be better than her. Trust me I was, until the day I prepared Pongal.

I was never a good cook, like most of us reading this. You are a good cook? Oh! Ok! Never mind. I am not one although my mom had the ability to cook for a crowd of hundred with outstanding taste and quantity, I on the other dumb struck route, completely contradictory to her traits had the ability to ruin even the simplest dish or beverage for that matter. I could make the food non-existent in the dish by completely burning it to its ashes. Sometimes, I could make a sweet dish salty, a spicy one sweet and on most occasions, on tasting what I prepared, my mother’s face would look blank. Those eyes said it all “My dear, I would appreciate it if you did not enter the kitchen”.

I got married.

Living with in-laws was Ok, not great but just fine, because it was no better than living with parents. The constant nagging and the comparison to other’s daughter in laws was a daily soap at their house.

Everything was tolerant until the day he said, “Why can’t you cook like my mom?” which soon followed by another voice at the end of the hallway “May be her mother has not taught her how to”. Not true, Mummy wanted me to learn, but eventually she thought saving the house from fire was more important. Like all wives out there, I wanted to prove to him, that I was better than his mother in all ways including cooking. I tried, and tried, until one day his mother begged me to stop. The family had not tasted good food for days.

We relocated.

Now was my chance to prove myself to him I thought. He looked nervous when I told him I would do everything to make him happy. Sadly, he lived to eat good food, he earned to eat and be merry, until the day he married me. Now he preferred TV more than food and we had a maid to fulfil my husband’s need to eat.

I became resentful.

I could not tolerate my husband praising the maid for her fine art of cooking. It all looked very easy. Just cut the vegetables, add a powder which is already ready, pour some water, put some Dal if required, salt to taste, and close the cooker. Watch it till it whistles 3 or 4 times and then turn it off and serve hot. I do the exact same things she does. Just that, I either forget something is on the stove, or I forget turn on the stove, and worst scenario was when I went shopping with the milk on the stove. When everything turned out to be just fine, he tasted it, and then he posed the exact same look my mother used to when she tasted what I cooked.

After a lot of practice my maid helped me realize, I was not adamant to learn the art of cooking, I already had it in me, I was adamant to be better than his mom and that is what led to fatal destructions even after years of practice. She was sweet unlike his mother; she helped me learn to concentrate while cooking.

She also taught me how to cook a decent dish and how to handle a disaster. She spent days helping me understand no one can be better than a Man’s mother. The Men live to Savor the dish cooked by the sweet palms of their Mothers. I huffed and turned my face. I said, NO, I can make him happy with my cooking too. All I needed was more practice.

3 years passed.

It was Valentine’s Day. I was exhausted on all the gifts in the market. Everything was said and done, all gifts were either costly or already given on various occasions than one. After a lot of thought, I remembered what his mother once slipped in between a conversation, “To make him really happy, I prepare Pongal”. That information right now was gold.

She had explained the entire process to me and I had written it down somewhere. The word “Make him really happy” was stuck in my head and this time I decided come what may, I will prepare it, but it would be tastier than hers. All I had to do was add more ghee, add more salt and add more of everything, and since it is Valentine’s, I just had to prepare it with love. I could not find the piece of paper. I may have left it back at his mother’s I thought. I did not want to call her up to ask her the recipe; I just did not want that at all. She would think, I am still of no good for her son. Which is of course true in terms of cooking, but not yet, I am working on it. And that day was my one last chance.

Mentally, I tried to remember, the ingredients to it. It was yellow in colour, so it is understood turmeric powder was required, salt of course and the black peppers. Rice, I guess and yes curry leaves and some mustard. Not sure about the onions, but it is ok. No one dies if they don’t eat one. Not one fraction of a second did my dumb head think, I could have asked my mother for a recipe and no one would know. I was adamant and that had done the job. A perfectly great Pongal which was completely burnt at the bottom because I was watching the Valentines special on channel V. TV is important, mind you, but why is that something is always burning while I am watching it?

Anyway, my maid had thought me a disaster recovery technique. I removed the rice that was un-burnt and moved it to a clean new dish. Switch on the exhaust fan to undo the stink and portray an innocent look like, nothing happened. Over the years I have learnt at such situations one must not panic. With Mc D’s and KFC’s just around the corner, why worry. I would have loved pizza instead of taking all this pain I thought, but no, I wanted to be better than her for once I wanted to. And I haven’t lost yet. I still had the un-burnt Pongal.

He came home with a bunch of flowers, and I was very happy. He had no clue the maid was not in that night. He was happy everything would turn out to be just fine. And so was I. Until I told him the Maid wasn’t in that night.

The ambiance of romance died down instantly, yet he was calm. With Mc D’s and KFC’s just around the corner, why worry he said! I said “Ah, Ah, Ahhh…. Not so soon Honey!!! Guess what, I cooked your favourite dish”.

He looked dazed as I held his hand to bring back the romance that non-existent in the atmosphere. He was resistant to surge forward, with a lot of coaxing; I convinced him that I am much better than I was when he married me. Because it was the Lovers Day he smiled and said “you were always the best darling” with a grin that was forced.

Any other day the dialogue would have been “Are you sure? No one can be better than my mom you know”.

I noticed him glance at the kitchen. I am sure he was checking if it is still standing. Everything was fine, and by the time he came home the exhaust had refreshed the stink. We kissed and hugged, and the ambience was perfect. I heard his stomach growl. He had a hard day at work and all he hoped for at that moment was food. I could not get the picture of his mother out of head though I tried, because deep within I knew I was bad at this, and I will continue the legacy until death. If not for TV it would have been perfect, I wondered, and hoped and prayed he does not realize it was burnt. I was immensely happy when he picked up a spoon to taste it. I was happy he dared to do the task, and was worried, he might discover.

He asked me lovingly if I had tasted it first. How could I forget? A cook never forgets. But who said I was a cook. I am an ordinary wife with ordinary dreams who prepared an ordinary dish to make her husband happy. I instantly posed an eye blinking innocent look and asked, “Err…No I did not, and why what happened?” (As if I did not know what happened. I love such moments)

“Nothing happened, but something is wrong with this. It is not like the way my mother prepares. Did you mean to prepare Pongal or something else sweetheart?”

Tears were on the edge. If he had spoken more than that, it would just flow for sure. I controlled my tears and hoped so much he was joking. He wanted to tease me for a while and then hug me and say, “It’s perfect, ALAS you have done it”. But that was not the case here. Something kept telling me that I have failed again. I picked up the spoon as he kept staring at the dish with a disastrous look on his face. I tasted it.

“You are right, something is wrong. I am unable to figure out what?”

“Are you sure you put everything in it? Where is that paper in which you wrote down the recipe from Mom?” “I lost it while shifting, but I remember the ingredients well. But this time I put more of everything. More pepper, more rice, more salt and more Love” My voice lowered for every word, and I threw myself in his arms and began to cry. For a minute there I sounded like an 8-year-old child.

He consoled me and said with a broad smile “Hey relax, I know what is missing” I lifted my head and wiped my nose and asked, “You do?”

Wiping my tears he said “Yes, it needs onions!!! See, there are no onions in there!” “I knew it; I knew I had to put onions. I am so sorry I forgot. I just wanted to be the best you know” I continued with tears which would not stop. Deep down I was sinking with thoughts of failure.

He had not sat down a minute from work. He put on my apron that had the words “Master Chef” printed on it and began chopping onions. He fried the onions and put it in the Pongal and we ate. Throughout I knew something else was missing. He spoke while eating “Oh!! There something else is missing”. My heart had stopped beating at this point. I wanted to throw the entire dish, forget what I had been through, accept the fact that his mother is the best and run to KFC.

“I don’t want to know. Can we please go to KFC? I promise I will never cook again”.

“It is missing your smile”. He said it so instantly and landed a tight kiss on my lips, I did not have time to cry or smile or even think for that matter.

“I don’t remember your mom putting a smile in the Pongal Mister Romance” I said after the romantic

ordeal. “That is why her Pongal never tasted as great as yours”.

It was the most romantic Valentine’s Day of my life. When the husband tells you that you are better than his mom, nothing compares to this kind of joy, this kind of elevated feeling. For a moment I felt I was flying along with my kitchen and all the vegetables. I really felt I was the best cook in the world.

The next day, I decided to make more food with smiles. I bought a notebook especially for the recipes and the first recipe I wrote down was “Pongal” with my name below it so that those who read it know it is my own recipe. At the last point I wrote do not forget your smile.

One day his mother visited.

I told her how I prepared Pongal and she smiled sarcastically. It looked like she said, "yeah Right!!!". She asked me lovingly what all you put. The woman is a sweetheart. I began to wonder why I am even competing!

I ran quickly and got my book. I wanted her to see the “More Love” and the “More Smile” ingredients. which she would not put. Clearly had you known me, you would have thought an 8-year-old behaves better.

Anyway, I was ecstatic and was waiting to see the jealousy on her face. I mean she is his mother. She had him first. She loved him first. Again, it is me we are talking about.

Husband was at work, and he had taken the risk of letting us be alone together to bond and here I was already working towards destroying it.

Page 1

“My Pongal Recipe”

Ingredients

» More Rice

» 1 tsp jeera

» 1 Onion

» 1 tsp peppercorns

» 1/2 tsp pepper powdered fresh

» More Cashew nuts broken

» More grated Coconut

» 1 table spoon of Turmeric powder

» Salt to taste

» More Ghee

» More Love and of course do not forget to smile

I was watching her eyes and was waiting for her reaction towards the end. She looked up without any expression of surprise, but had the element of sarcasm in her talk and asked “Where is Dal mentioned?

You did not add Dal???? Moong Dal??? Do you know what it is?? And no one puts Onions in Pongal”.

I have no words to explain how stupid I felt, how dumb I was standing in front of that woman that day who knew everything about ingredients. She was a perfectionist. She was the actual Master Chef. I gave her my apron and decided to humble down and learn decent cooking from her. We bonded the minute I humbled myself.

She smiled at me for the first time and said so lovingly “it is Ok; I did not know cooking either. His Mother taught me how to. But no matter how hard I try, he keeps complaining, it is just not as

good as hers”.

Today I cook decent food and I am a mother too. But I know, no matter how many years pass, no one can compete with “his” Mother.

My husband who is equally as bad as I was at cooking, did not want to hurt my feelings. Seeing the effort, I put in and the love I had, made up his own special missing ingredient at that moment.

Although nothing can be incomparable to a mother, but he put his mother down for me. I fell in love with that Man all over again.

Hey readers!!

Hope you liked the story. It is not mine, but it is someone’s for sure. While writing this I remembered a song Mummy used to sing to me when I was small

“You can always give some love, to people passing by. Even with a kiss or hug or even just a smile” 

Please spread your smiles and DO NOT TRY THE ABOVE RECIPE at home!!!

This blog post is part of the blog challenge ‘Blogaberry Dazzle’ hosted by Cindy D’Silva and Noor Anand Chawla in collaboration with Outset Books.