Plates

My parents’ stainless steel plates for every day (almost always South Indian) meals. 

The one on the left with the rim was my father’s. At the end of the meal he’d lift his plate and pour any fluid left over (rasam,sāmbār or the whey from yogurt) into his mouth. 

The one on the right, slightly deeper and rimless, was my mother’s. She’d run her right hand across the rim to scrape off any food sticking to it, and then scoop that residue up with her thumb into her smacking lips. 

I hated both “rituals with victuals” then. Now they are endearing memories of my parents. How time changes our perspectives.