My Grandmother and My Vegetables
My Grandmother and My Vegetables A Love Story between a Boy and His Grandmother Today was the day my grandmother died, and yet I still look in repugnance at broccoli. The first time she came here to Los Angeles, her typical Indian lifestyle had come with her, and the cultural diffusions between us were visible. I was a young, 16 year old junkaholic, and would conventionally be seen stuffing my round, chubby face full of processed foods coursing with grease and oil. Upon learning of my habits, the dismay present in her expressions was blatant, and she had hoped that her healthy indulgences would rub off on me sooner or later, fanatical about eradicating my unhealthy lifestyle. But she was never able to. From the moment she came, she would mix in broccoli, asparagus, spinach and bell peppers into every meal I consumed, and with every meal I ate, cucumbers, lettuce, and beetroot...