Just sooo Indian

I am pretty white-washed. I mean, I have been called the whitest brown girl ever.

It's true, I am not particularly cultural. In my defense, neither are my parents. It's not like I was all ... I reject my culture, blah blah blah.

Rather, I just followed suit.

They didn't run around the house wearing saris or constantly cooking Indian food. Mom's best meals are the always the ones she asks her white friends for.

But, the one thing my mom does, soooo well, is Indian breads. Namely chapatis.

They are also called rotis for some people - I don't know why they have different names, but they do. Harp, can you explain?

They used to be regular occurences in my life. Mom would make them and I would devour them.

Now, they are few and far between.

I can make them too - they are one of the few items I can cook that actually comes out tasting the same as when she does them - but for me, they still taste better when she makes them.

Plain, with cheese, with a saucy goodness, I swear, chapatis could solve the world's problems.

Well, at least mine.