"Careful, hold the handle, Srijanani," I reminded my daughter as she got off the bus, holding her bag.

I reached under the seat to pull out the tucked bag while the last few passengers left the bus.

"Kurnool! Kurnool!" the conductor called out, signalling the start of the return trip from Dharanikota to Kurnool.

Every year, my kids and I come to Dharanikota to spend the summer with my parents. My husband, Gangadharam, usually joins us for a few days, but this time, he had to stay in Kurnool for work.

"Amma! Tatha is waiting for us!" My son, Srikanth, shouted happily, waving at my father, who stood near a rickshaw, ready to take us home.

“It is hot”, my father said, wiping the sweat on his forehead as he gestured to the kids to get into the rickshaw.

Despite the heat, his face lit up with a warm smile, happy on our arrival.

As we made our way through those lanes, childhood memories filled me with nostalgia. I could see my younger self running, playing and gossiping with friends on these lanes. Often, it is the irresistible aroma of my mother’s cooking that would pull us back home for a delicious meal. My mother is a great cook.

“We are home!” Srikanth shouted, interrupting my thoughts. 

His excitement was clear as he eagerly gathered his things, already hopping out of the rickshaw.

“Ammamma!” the kids cried out together, spotting my mother at the entrance, her face lighting up with joy.

She greeted us with warm hugs and huge smiles, overjoyed to have us.

“Freshen up and come to the table,” she said, handing out glasses of water as we started unpacking. “Lunch is ready and waiting for you all.”.

The aroma of food filled the air, making our stomachs rumble with hunger.

“What’s for lunch, Ammamma?” Srijanani asked eagerly.

“I bet it’s tamarind Pulihora, akka. I can already smell it!” Srikanth replied, looking at my mother with a knowing grin.

“Yes, it’s Pulihora,” my mother confirmed with a smile, arranging the plates for lunch.

“Peanuts, cashews, green chillies, curry leaves… hmm, it smells so delicious, Ammamma,” Srikanth said, excited as he sat down for lunch.

“Mmm… so good!” Srijanani exclaimed with her mouth full. “I love the taste of green chillies in tamarind pulihora - it's a perfect blend of spiciness and tanginess” she added.

“Ammamma, why do you always make Pulihora on the first day we arrive and the last day before we leave?” Srikanth asked

“Because it's super tasty! And with the tamarind paste prepared beforehand, it's quick and easy, Srikanth,” Srijanani explained, enjoying the burst of flavours from the green chillies in Pulihora.

“True. But, not exactly,” I said, as I served them more pulihora.

Both kids paused and turned to look at me, eager to hear what I had to say. Their eyes widened with curiosity, eager for an explanation that went beyond just taste and convenience.

“When we were kids, just like you, my brother, sister and I loved the Pulihora Ammamma made. But Ammamma had a tradition—she only made it on festivals and special occasions. Whether it was Sankranti, Ugadi, or any family celebration, Pulihora was always part of the feast. On those days, we all would sit together, sharing long talks, laughter and beautiful memories while having the delicious Pulihora. It is more than just a dish; it is more than just the taste - it was our way of celebrating happiness and togetherness”, I said, reliving those moments.

“But what’s so special today?” asked Srikanth, confused.

“For Ammamma and Tatha, we coming here to be with them is nothing short of a celebration”, I said looking at my mother warmly.

“We love, Ammamma”, Srijanani said compassionately.

“But why the last day?”, asked Srikanth again

“The last day is a bit bittersweet, Srikanth, isn’t it? We feel happy because we have had a wonderful time, but we are also a little sad because it’s time to leave. Pulihora on the last day reminds us of the good memories we made that we carry with us. It’s a celebration again”. I added.

“Also…”, My mother who has been listening to us quietly spoke for the first time. “ With the tamarind paste prepared beforehand, I get to spend more time with all of you, rather than in the kitchen. And for me that’s always been a real celebration”, said my mother quietly.

“Okay. Let’s get to playing now!!”said Srikanth, cheering everyone up.

Everyone sat down to play snake and ladder while I continued to clear the vessels.

As I watched my mother and kids have a good time, my heart filled with joy. This is what summer is about—coming home, reliving old memories, and creating new ones.