There is something mesmerizing and magical about a Phulka that balloons up perfectly. The fire coaxing the water in the roti to become steam, to push, seek escape. The roti fluffing up into a perfect sphere, wobbling on the stove like a balloon ready for flight. The aroma of hot wheat escaping. The dollop of ghee soothing the puffed Phulka. It took me years to get there. I used to look in admiration and some envy as my better-skilled friends and relatives minted phulkas by the dozen. When I tried my hand at it, the dough was too soft, or too hard, the roti was never round and the pesky phulkas never lived up to their name – never puffed up. But like any other skill, it takes practice, and I kept at it. Until one day it happened. I watched with delight as my flat roti became a big hot spere of steam and flour. Since then, I may not mint out perfect phulkas each time, but every time it happens, my heart sings a little in joy.