In each installment of Aaira’s Adventures, Aaira Goswami ’27 captures the fleeting emotions and quiet reflections of life at Stanford, exploring moments of growth and discovery. From joyous experiences as an international student to unraveling the unexpected, join her journey of learning more about life here, mostly in afterthoughts.

Sometimes the person you know the least about is yourself. Despite having spent all your life trying to figure yourself out, you often find yourself at crossroads where you are simply not aware of what to do next.

I always said I would never spend time cooking. I found it a waste of time, because the input took way longer than the output; I ordered my favorite foods whenever I craved them. But things changed this summer when I moved to EVGR as the RA and finally had the luxury of my own kitchen. With only an internship and my RAship to juggle, I finally had the time, so I decided to give it a shot. I started with simple recipes that would last me a while, so I could take food with me to work. Economically, it seemed like a good decision too.

I started with egg pulao, a simple recipe that takes about an hour. That was okay, because it gave me time to relax and watch some Modern Family while I cooked. This recipe taught me patience. As someone who likes to get things done quickly and is, well, impatient, I had to get used to waiting, because the longer I waited, the tastier the results were.

Making pulao starts with frying onions in oil until they turn golden brown. This is called birista, and it’s crucial for adding sweetness and a beautiful aroma. The longer you wait, the better the pulao gets. Don’t burn them, though. Get them right, and the pulao turns out delicious.

A couple of days later, I tried to make dal chawal. Every time I made dal, I knew something was missing, but this time, all the ingredients miraculously appeared. I washed the dal, added some spices, and let the ingredients do their work. At the end, I prepped the tadka with hing, and it worked like magic. The small details really do matter. They bring a dish to life.

After I practiced cooking various recipes all summer, I was feeling pretty confident, so I attempted to make my favorite dish, biryani. Almost like a lasagna of rice and chicken, biryani is a recipe that tests patience and expects perfection. This dish is so elaborate that it is practically a project. Somewhere between the marinating, the layering, and the dum, I learned that patience and small details aren’t enough on their own. Once I was done with the dish, I opened the lid in excitement and insatiable hunger, because I had been waiting for thirty minutes. I was welcomed by mushy rice. Though the chicken was tender, it was also hopelessly bland, and all its flavor was lost in the said mushy rice. 

Some dishes demand that you build up to them. Biryani was not a dish that could be made with some missing ingredients. Rather, the totality of all the ingredients combined makes it what it is, and so I have resorted to ordering in Biryani for the time being. Perhaps, one day, with all the right ingredients, and even to an extent the right utensils, I will be able to make my favorite dish and say goodbye to takeout. But we are not there yet. 

Time and again, I find myself making chai for my friends. I recently learned that with chai, you can dump all of the ingredients and spices (ginger, cardamom, cloves) into the pot and simply wait for it to boil. That is it. The waiting is what gives it that addictive taste. My friends absolutely love it, and we often go for seconds (sometimes thirds). Those long, deep conversations over chai have become some of my favorite memories of junior and senior year. 

A favorite shayari of mine captures this perfectly: “Mujhe mehengey tofe pasand hai, jaise aitbaar, izzaat, waqt aur chai.” It translates to, “I love expensive gifts, like trust, respect, time, and tea.” Especially tea that I made myself.

It struck me that the thing I once thought wasted time is the very thing that makes it a gift. Now, after a long, exhausting day, I look forward to cooking for myself. I get to explore different cuisines, and I get to make exactly what I am craving. Lemon rice, a quick South Indian dish, is my go-to when I am tired. Khichdi, a mashed lentil-and-rice dish, is perfect for a sick day, with extra ghee on top. 

Now, back on campus and off the meal plan, I still cook almost every other day. I used to think cooking took too much time to be worth it. What I didn’t know was that the time was the point. The waiting, the small details, the cups of chai shared with friends, the meals made just for me: they taught me things about myself I never would have learned from a delivery app.

Sometimes the person you know the least about is yourself. I was the girl who said she would never cook. It turns out I just hadn’t met that version of me yet.