The kitchen was dark, its windows closed and the lights off. Outside, it was raining heavily, with sleets of water splattering on the tin roof, creating a huge din. It sounded like the roar of a monster. The only illumination came from two burning stoves. A pot of daal was simmering on one while the other had a black heated pan. Despite the darkness, she had not lighted the candles yet. There were only two of them and she was conserving them, not knowing when the power will resume.
Her arms itched and her knees ached but she stood there, baking the rotis, making sure –even in the surrounding darkness- that no roti was overbaked. Her feet throbbed with pain as she stood on the cold kitchen floor, beads of sweat forming on her forehead due to the stove’s heat. But even in this darkness, the itching and with the throbbing pains, her face was lit with a beautiful smile, slightly visible in the blueish glow of the stove. Today she was cooking