As I entered my flat, the smell of cooking hit me. My mother was making a prawn sambal. The prawns fried in onions, tamarind and red chillies acquired a burning, all pervading flavour that simultaneously attacked nose and eyes. The pungency of the confection, however, was only an alibi for my tears. The smell of prawn sambal cooking took me back into my childhood, to the days when I used to hang about my mother's skirts while she cooked. [11]
Baratham, Gopal. A Candle or the Sun. London: Serpent's Tail, 1991. (Note: Serpent's Tale, the publishers, are located at 4 Blackstock Mews, London N4, England.)
