She would recite, in a very soothing low voice, almost inaudible to others but her, one of her bhajans whenever she was cooking. Or she would be doing her regular japa as she worked in her simple kitchen in her modest home in the big city. Her food tasted heavenly, perhaps because of that. Everyone who ate even once in her home felt that ‘special’ taste in her food. It was not only their physical hunger that felt satisfied. Something else was being fed too. The real thing within, perhaps.
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