The memorable rayo sag: A fond memory of my mother's' cooking

The memorable rayo sag in my parents’ garden carried an intriguing fact that I remembered after all these years. In fact, the tiny little rayo plants I grew in pots in my deck this summer reminded me of the story. Compared to those dark green glossy rayo sag in my parents field, which looked more like banana plants, my humble rayo green looked more like dwarfy spinach plants. Just a dozen of my mother's rayo leaves made enough stir- fry tarkari for my parents’ family of nine people, while my tiny leaves made barely enough salad for my family of two: my husband I!

I was born in Paknajhol, but grew up in Baneswor. Baneswor was more like a village than a city when I was growing up. My parents owned quite a few pieces of land and they had a caretaker to look after their property. Rayo sag was one of the crops the farmer was good at growing and my parents loved the sag.

After all those years, I still picture my parents’ back yard with the patch of rayo garden. The taste of my mother’s rayo sag ko ghol (soup) when my siblings and I returned from our schools is still on my tongue! However, the secret of how the sag got that way was something I had forgotten until now.

After living in a society where almost everything is fabricated, it feels weird  to think that I grew up eating the vegetables fertilized by the “night soil.” Apparently, that was one of the secrets of some farmers in Kathmandu that I was so accustomed to and never thought about it any other way until now.