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The old host lady wearing the traditional Kumaoni attire, a plain rich purple Ghagra (long skirt) along with a pistachio green colored kameez (shirt) as a blouse and a bright orange Odhni to cover her head . Her face like a prune , crow feet, cross cross lines running from eyes to lips. She welcomed me in her traditional house made of mud stones. I sat crossing my legs on the floor . Being so curious about her and her life in the mountains, ignoring everything else besides I just bombarded her with my genuine curiosity "For how long have you been staying here" and having said that I tightened myself a bit because I felt a deep grave look in her eyes which themselves told a story, longing to share, to hear what she had to say. "We lived in Lahore before partition, partition leaves no one, just scars and wounds. All communities had lived peacefully before partition. We had celebrated Diwali and Eid together for generations but partition tested those ties. I was just fifteen when I saw girls my age being kidnapped and raped by mobs ." I realized later in the moment that the room was filled with smoke because of tempering of masalas (ground spices) which apparently was not of my interest. "The train berth was literally stuffed with people and the window seals shut" she continued while preparing a local dish . "A decision has been made among the ladies that if the attacks got worse, they would resort to suicide. My mother a strong and pious lady ended her life to protect her dignity". Just to break her from her chain of painful thoughts I asked her the name of the dish she was preparing for me,apparently. It was Thenuchwai made with mountain radish root and potato. But this did not really took her to the present but more of the events she wanted me to hear "I saw the dead lying in ditches along the road and flooding in canals". My curiosity turned into empathy , I kept listening what she had to say. Sometimes you just need a patient ear to hear what you have to say and be there for them in the moment ,no advise or consolation but patience to listen. She kept peeling the layers of her story like an onion and I felt more closer to her in a matter of an hour. The veggies were almost cooked and she started making rotis. She handed me two plates to which I refused and insisted her to eat in one plate together. Eating together in one plate increases love and care as it is believed in India and I surely wanted to stay in touch with the lady .