My favorite dessert is ras malai. For those of you who haven’t had it, it’s spongey little cakes of Indian dessert cheese that are served in a bowl of saffron and pistachio-flavored milk cream. They’re light on your tongue and dissolve almost instantly, more air than anything else.
The last time my family went to India – before the election of Modi, before the riots in Delhi and the nationalism that crept like bloodstains into every province – the last time we were in Bangalore, my low-key rich uncle bought us ras malai to welcome us. There were chunks of mango and and lychee in it.
Is it weird to say it tasted like heritage?
Like a home that doesn’t want us anymore – sweet with memories?