In this essay, Zeenat Khan captures a tender memory of her late mother, and how her memories have stayed alive with her through some of her most favourite things, like a bowl of ice cream.
Since my Amma’s *1 death, seeing silky, smooth, and sinfully irresistible ice cream in the grocer’s freezer always reminds me of her. I have not had a single scoop of ice cream since she left me an orphan thirteen years ago. Last Sunday, I was walking by the newly renovated ice-cream shop in my neighborhood. Every time someone went in or came out, the subtle smell and sweetness of strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla almond flavor wafted through the slightly open door. I went to the coffee shop next door to get my cup of cappuccino. I decided to sit outside in the dining area. But, instead of having an enjoyable experience with my hot foamy drink, I was getting a little distracted by the aroma that emanated from the ice cream place. In fact, it was not only nostalgia that hit me, but I felt I was going to have a meltdown. I got up, threw away my unfinished cup of coffee, and started for my car. Once inside, I just remained there and sobbed for ten minutes.