The roti is never just roti

When I stand at the stove, rolling dough and flipping rotis, it looks like a simple routine. Just another task in a long list of things to do as a mother, a wife, a working woman. But if you pause long enough, you realise the roti is never just roti.

It’s not just food.
It’s a memory, a symbol, a language.
It’s love, care, routine, and resilience… all rolled into one.

I remember watching my mother’s hands in our kitchen back in my home, she made roti after roti without ever needing to measure or time anything. I thought it was just something mothers did. I didn’t realise I was witnessing strength in its quietest form.

Now all these years later in a kitchen on the other side of the world, I find myself doing the same. After a full day of work, school pickups, emails, grocery runs, bills, birthday invites, and a hundred mental tabs open I still roll the dough, I still make the rotis. Even when my feet ache and my mind is heavy, I show up in that moment. And I know now, this isn’t just about dinner. It’s an act of care.

It’s how I say, “I love you” without words.
It’s how I honour the women who came before me.
It’s how I stay grounded when everything else feels overwhelming.

But let’s be honest.
Some days, the atta dough doesn’t cooperate. The kids are fighting. I forget an important email. The oil splatters. I feel like I’m running on empty. And I wonder why it all has to fall on me? because often, it feels like it does.

As women especially South Asian we are taught to carry so much without complaint. We grow up learning to serve others before ourselves. And even in a new country far from home, some of those expectations follow us like shadows.

But even in the tiredness, I’ve learned to see power.
Even in the repetition, I’ve learned to see ritual.
Even in the smallest routines, I’ve learned to find meaning.

Because when I make that roti, I am not just feeding my family, I am reminding myself that I’m still standing, still showing up, still holding my world together, one soft, warm circle at a time.

And while I’m proud of that, I also want to say: you don’t have to romanticise exhaustion to feel worthy.

You can love your family deeply and still feel tired. You can serve with your heart and still wish for a break. You can honour your culture and still crave help. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.

This blog: Roti, Routine, and Resilience is about all of that.
The love, the pressure, the fatigue, the strength.
The beauty of the everyday, and the weight it quietly carries.

So if you’re reading this after a long day, maybe with flour on your hands and your hair tied up in a rushed bun—know that I see you.

You are not alone.

The roti is never just roti.
And you are never “just” anything.
You are a story of strength in motion.
And that story deserves to be told.