Personal Narrative: My Homemade Thepla

Nothing excites me more than my mother’s homemade thepla. It is a heavily spiced Indian flatbread, eaten with cold yogurt and a spicy cilantro chutney. Thepla was the highlight of my elementary school days, packaged neatly in aluminum foil into my Tinkerbell lunchbox. Its irresistible taste motivated me to learn how to make it myself.

Cumin, chili powder, and turmeric trickled through my fingers, bringing the dense wheat flour to life. My hands eagerly dove into the bowl, kneading the sticky mess into a pliant dough. Intuition is the only guide in Indian cooking. The process filled me with childish glee. My mother expertly rolled the mixture into symmetric circles. While mine were not quite as spherical, the ambrosial taste was the same.
I could now be both the creator and devourer of my favorite food. I feel that same exhilarating rush whether I’m reading Ray Bradbury’s short stories, studying the complicated life cycles of fungi, or solving abstract math problems in linear algebra that have no solutions. Making thepla has inspired me to want to unearth new curiosities and love what I’m