There is a particular kind of silence that settles in after a long day of academic work. It is not a peaceful silence but rather the low hum of a laptop fan cooling an overworked processor, the faint echo of the day’s final Zoom call, and the weight of a dozen tasks that are still on the mind. My world, like for many others, is one of student inquiries, developing the next grant proposal, content preparation, the endless pursuit of publications, and constantly managing competing priorities. Academia today is incredibly demanding and can lead to burnout and mental ill health. As many readers will be aware, researchers have called for more attention to the unhealthy work environment in academia for years, even before the pandemic exacerbated our collective sense of isolation.   

For me, these universal academic pressures have been compounded by the experience of being a migrant woman scholar in Australia. I have often felt that I have been building a career in a system not originally designed for someone with my background, and that comes with its own set of invisible challenges. There was the subtle but constant work of cultural translation, navigating the politics of career progression and visa regulations, coping with a lack of inherited social capital and confronting patriarchal views from my personal life. I also had an aching distance from family which was felt even more on quieter evenings and missing of celebrations. My professional life has been fulfilling, but there was a period where my well-being was fraying at the edges.

Then, I found another kind of silence. Not to be too poetic, but those who have sat across my kitchen island would understand – it began with the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of a knife on a wooden board – it grew with the gentle sizzle of cumin seeds hitting hot oil, releasing their earthy fragrance and it was enveloped in the Bollywood music that I play in the background and sometimes dance to. It was the silence of total focus, of hands engaged in a task so tangible, so sensory, that the deadlines and anxieties couldn’t distract me. I found a sanctuary, not in a yoga studio or a meditation app, but in my own kitchen. In this blog, I’ll share my journey and explain how cooking has become a central part of maintaining my wellbeing—and a source of continuing joy—while working in higher education.