Steemit friends, how are you all? Hope you are all well by the grace of Allah. I am also fine by the grace of Allah. Today, I will participate in the new contest from Steem For Pakistan brought by the Honorable moderator @artist1111. The name of the contest is "Food Captured with Yummy Thoughts!" Thank you Steem For Pakistan for bringing the contest to us.

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The food that I have selected for today's contest is pitha. It is a vapa pitha. A winter food of our country. One of my favorite foods is vapa pitha.
This dish takes me back to a special time. I can still remember my mother making steamed pitha in the clay oven at night in the village house and we brothers and sisters sitting around the stove when mother would take the pitha from the stove and we would eat it.
So, when I see this pie, I get emotional.

There is a story behind the photo of today's pitha. Today's pitha is not homemade. I bought it from Bossar.
My younger son said Dad first take a picture of the cake. Won't you write an article on it? My son is seven years old. He knows I write articles on the Steemit platform so he told me that.
I also took some pictures as my son said. Then I searched for which community to share the pictures. While searching, I found a contest on Steam for Pakistan. In one of my favorite communities, I decided to share my pitha pictures in this contest. This was my story of taking pictures and participating in the contest.

I have a lot of emotions behind this pitha. I have already mentioned how my mother used to make pitha when I was a child and we siblings would sit around the stove to eat pitha. My mother's favorite food was vapa pitha. When my mother got old, when winter pitha was no longer made for her, when winter came, I used to buy vapa pitha from the market. I used to listen to stories with pies nearby. Mother would be happy then. Mother would recall her memories. She used to tell beautiful stories about pies.
Today, my mother is no longer in the world, so the steamed pitha remains intact. Even now, when I see this pitha, on the one hand, I remember the childhood I left behind. On the other hand, I remember my dear mother. I remember the stories told by my mother and I get emotional.