幸福是“煮”出來的

這里沒有人說英語，沒有人穿得像我這樣，甚至沒有人看上去像我這樣。我無論什么時候走到市場上都會遭遇異樣的目光。盡管如此，我卻第一次感覺自己是屬于這里的。而你肯定想不到，這慢慢四溢的幸福感，全是媽媽用心烹煮出來的。

It's New Year's Eve and my dad's entire family and his friends have come to visit. The house fills with chatter of an unknown language. I feel alienated1） when surrounded by these people who are my own blood. I'm different.

My father's friends ask me questions， but I don't understand a word. Most of them speak English but choose not to. All I can offer is a smile to fill the awkwardness. I overhear my father say a word. I've heard that so many times that I understand it： she doesn't speak Punjabi. "Ahh！" his friends reply， as if it's some sort of disgrace to be half Indian and not speak their language.

To me， their language sounds like gibberish2）. Most of the time I feel paranoid3）， wondering if they're talking about me. I see friends and family look at me for a second then turn away， continuing their conversations. That's the look I hate the most.

Then again， I think about my mother. Unlike me， she has no Indian blood. I wonder how she feels. Most of my dad's family judged my mother because she is Mexican. They believed that she didn't have the skills that an Indian wife should， such as the ability to cook Indian food. My mom was determined to prove them wrong.

The smell of spices and curry4） fills the air. Some spices are so strong that they burn my throat as I inhale5） them. I follow the trail into the kitchen and see my mother preparing food. I help her set the table. There are large bowls of lentils6）， vegetables， and curry， each with its own color and texture. I bring out the dal—lentils boiled with spices and vegetables. They look like small beans floating among the vegetable and spices. I can see green chilies， onions， cilantro7）， tomato， all very small but mixing together to create a rainbow.

The next bowl I bring out is sabji. The curry drowns out the cooked peas and carrots， giving them a new color. The small cheese cubes are added last. They are easy to see， since they remain white.

I set a dish of sahg on the table. At first glance， it looks like the most disgusting food ever—spinach8） and mustard leaves9） boiled for hours until it looks like a dark green paste10）. Despite this， it's delicious and especially made for winter. The spices and chili drown the bitter spinach taste.

Finally， my mom walks into the dining room with the most special dish of all， aloo gobi. She sets it right in the middle， as if it is royalty compared to all the others. I look into the large bowl and see cauliflower11） crowns blooming with steaming potatoes， spices perfectly scattered over the vegetables， making them glow bright yellow， catching my eye and luring me in.endprint

Everyone serves themselves. I choose the aloo gobi first. We sit around the table in the illuminated dining room. My dad is laughing with his family and friends， enjoying this time. My mother and I remain quiet and eat in peace.

Then all of a sudden， I hear something that is music to my ears. "This is the best I have ever tasted！" I look up and see my aunt with a huge smile on her face. Everyone exclaims in agreement. The alien language I had been hearing all day is gone. English fills the room. Everyone is complimenting my mother. I can hear shock and amazement in their voices. My mother， having no experience with the Indian culture， can make much more than a decent12） Indian meal. As everyone fills their stomachs， the chattering fades， leaving a silent satisfaction in the room.

Now the house is quiet. I pick up the dishes and take them into the kitchen. My mother is outside with my father saying good-bye to everyone. Even from inside the house， I can hear laughing. I hear one of my uncles yell in awkward English， "Next time you cook to my house！"

Two years later， I wake to the smell of curry. I walk outside to see my eldest aunt squatting by a fire. She rises to greet me with a tight hug and kiss. I see a bright yellow color cooking in the pot over the fire. My uncle is milking the buffalo， and my cousin is buying vegetables from a man pulling a cart.

I am where it all originated： Punjab， India. It is where my other half was born. No one speaks English here； no one dresses like me or even looks like me. I get weird stares whenever I walk to the market. Despite that， for the first time I feel like I belong.

It seems as if my mother's adaptation to the Indian culture helped me grow closer to my Indian roots. If it weren't for her， I would have been indifferent to being half Indian. Now I cherish my multiculturalism more than I ever have. I think about this as I sit at the table with a cup of warm buffalo milk and a bowl of aloo gobi， savoring this food for the first time in the place where it all began.

這是新年前夜，爸爸那邊的親朋好友全都來家里做客了。屋子里充斥著嘰嘰喳喳我聽不懂的語言。身處這些和我血脈相連的至親當中，我卻覺得自己格格不入。我和他們不一樣。

爸爸的朋友們問了我一些問題，但我一個字也聽不懂。他們當中的大部分人都會說英語，但卻選擇不說。我所能做的就是微微一笑來化解尷尬。我無意中聽到爸爸說了一句話。這句話我聽過太多次了所以能聽懂，意思是：她不會說旁遮普語。“啊！”他的朋友們回答，似乎有一半印度血統卻不會說他們的語言多少有些丟人。

對我來說，他們的語言聽起來就像是胡言亂語。絕大部分時間我覺得自己疑神疑鬼的，揣測他們是不是在談論我。我看見那些朋友和家人看了我一眼，然后轉過臉去接著聊天。我最討厭他們這樣看我。

于是，我又想起了媽媽。和我不一樣，她沒有印度血統。我不知道她感覺如何。以前爸爸的大部分家人都曾對媽媽評頭論足，因為她是墨西哥人。他們當時并不相信她具備一個印度妻子應有的技能，比如燒印度菜的能力。那時媽媽下定決心要證明他們看走眼了。endprint

此刻空氣中彌漫著各種香料和咖喱的味道。有些香料的味道很沖，以至于我吸進去后覺得嗓子火辣辣的。我順著那股氣味走進了廚房，看見媽媽正在做飯。我幫她把餐具擺好。廚房里有幾個大碗，里面分別盛著扁豆、蔬菜和咖喱，每一碗都有各自的顏色和口感。我端出一碗用各種香料和蔬菜一起煮出來的扁豆濃湯。它們看上去像一顆顆小豆子漂浮在蔬菜和各種香料中間。我可以看見綠辣椒、洋蔥、香菜、西紅柿，它們都切得很碎，但混合在一起形成了一道彩虹。

我緊接著端出來的是一碗辣味炒拌菜。咖喱澆蓋在燉熟了的豌豆和胡蘿卜上，給了它們一種新的色彩。那些小方塊的干酪是最后才放進去的，很容易就能看見，因為它們依然是白色的。

我把一盤菠菜糊擺上了桌。乍一看，它就像是世界上最惡心的食物——將菠菜和芥菜放在一塊兒煮好幾個小時，直到看上去像深綠色的糊狀物。這道菜雖然賣相不怎么樣，但卻很美味，尤其適合冬天享用。香料和辣椒會蓋住菠菜的苦味。

最后，媽媽端著所有菜當中最特別的一道菜——香辣土豆花椰菜——走進飯廳。她把這道菜擺在桌子正中間，仿佛和其他所有菜相比它是皇室貴族一般。我朝這個大碗里看了一眼，看見花椰菜的冠綻放在熱氣騰騰的土豆中，各種香料均勻地撒在蔬菜上，使它們散發出亮黃色的光芒，抓住了我的眼球，吊起了我的胃口。

每個人都自己盛飯盛菜。我一上來就選了香辣土豆花椰菜。在燈火通明的飯廳里，我們圍坐在餐桌旁。爸爸和他的親友們一起開懷大笑，享受著這個時光。媽媽和我則保持沉默，安靜地吃飯。

突然，我聽見了一句悅耳的話：“這是我吃過的最好吃的菜！”我抬起頭，看見姑姑臉上掛著燦爛的微笑。每個人都大聲附和。我聽了一整天的外星語消失了，房間里都是英語。每個人都在稱贊媽媽。我能從他們的聲音里聽出震驚和詫異。媽媽對印度文化毫無經驗，卻能做出這么一頓比“過得去”好太多的印度大餐。每個人大快朵頤之時，嘰嘰喳喳的議論聲逐漸消失了，只在房間留下一種靜默的滿足感。

現在房間里安靜了。我收拾餐具把它們端進廚房。媽媽在外面和爸爸一起送別每位來客。即使在屋里，我也能聽見笑聲。我聽見我的一個叔叔用蹩腳的英語大聲說：“下次你來我的房子燒飯！”

兩年后，我聞著咖喱的味道醒來。我走到外面，看見大姑蹲在爐火旁。她站起來和我打招呼，給了我一個緊緊的擁抱和一個吻。我看見爐火上的鍋里煮著亮黃色的東西。叔叔在給水牛擠奶，堂哥在從一個拉小車的小販那里買菜。

我現在就在這一切的起源地：印度的旁遮普。這是另外半個我誕生的地方。這里沒有人說英語，沒有人穿得像我這樣，甚至沒有人看上去像我這樣。我無論什么時候走到市場上都會遭遇異樣的目光。盡管如此，我卻第一次感覺自己是屬于這里的。

媽媽對印度文化的適應似乎幫助我逐漸靠近了我的印度根。如果不是因為她，我可能會對自己有一半印度血統漠不關心。現在我比以往任何時候都更加珍惜我的多元文化。在思考這件事的時候，我正坐在桌子旁，面前是一杯熱乎乎的水牛奶和一碗香辣土豆花椰菜，生平第一次在這個一切開始的地方享受這種美食。

1. alienated [?e?li?ne?t?d] adj. 疏遠的；分離的

2. gibberish [?d??b?r??] n. 無意義或令人費解的話

3. paranoid [?p?r?n??d] adj. 有妄想狂傾向的；多疑的

4. curry [?k?ri] n. 咖喱

5. inhale [?n?he?l] vt. 吸入

6. lentil [?lentl] n. 扁豆

7. cilantro [s??l?ntr??] n. 芫荽葉（用作調味香料或飾菜），香菜

8. spinach [?sp?n?t?] n. 菠菜

9. mustard leaf： 芥菜

10. paste [pe?st] n. 糊狀物

11. cauliflower [?k?lifla??（r）] n. 花椰菜（通稱菜花）

12. decent [?di?snt] adj. 過得去的，尚可的endprint