A hearty stomach and a nourished heart

What did you last have for a meal? Did you savour every morsel of it or was it a rushed affair of gobbling down whatever was on the plate, while surfing through TV channels or reading something really interesting on the mobile phone, maybe just dashing off to work/school/college? I have not done that in a long while, and I count myself lucky. Sitting in a village far away from home, I do not have the luxury of entertainment and I do not have any company while having my dinner and breakfast. It does work on my mind, to be sitting in the middle of nowhere and eating all alone. I cannot help but think of the times when at home all my meals were consumed to the background imagery of a TV running and having my whole attention, or of the times when in college invariably every meal was consumed with so many other friends, happily chatting away the day's incidents or something of common interest. In stark contrast, these days I look, feel and taste only my food during breakfast, lunch and dinner. Every morsel is enjoyed to its fullest and with every piece consumed the taste is savoured to its last bit. Sometimes though I carelessly eat my food while scrolling through the messages on my phone or revisiting pages on the internet. The immensely farm-fresh and nutritious meal is left languishing cold.

At the same time, instead of fully grasping how fortunate I am to be eating food from my own backyard- cutting out all those carbon footprint and inorganic demons- I think and dream about all the foods that I have not consumed in a long while. It could be the highly fattening honey-chilli potatoes served in the choc-a-bloc Chinese restaurants in Delhi or the full Tamil spread on a banana leaf. Constantly bereaved of my grandmother's rasam and my mother's variety of vegetables, I woke up one Sunday morning deciding to cook for myself and not make any of those ready-to-eat items like oats or upma. Khichdi it shall be, a dish for the soul, so homely and prepared by me! When I was at home in Chennai, I always kept putting off learning how to cook. Kitchen was the last place I wanted to be, and the first place I derived maximum from. About 2300 kms away from the kitchen at home, I chose to experiment and learn. After a careful half an hour at the local market, I was laden with few tomatoes, a couple of potatoes, onions, a little pouch of turmeric and half a kilo of rice and moong dal. I had to sheepishly ask the shopkeeper for "khichdi wala daal" because I did not even have an idea of what pulse went into it. Feeling enormously satisfied already at making my first grocery purchase with my own money, I happily called home and quickly got my mother's instructions and later, blessings, to make khichdi. A quick process of boiling all my purchases together and finally adding some turmeric and salt, I ended up preparing my own dinner. So pleased I was with myself, that I clicked a few photos of the really amateur dish, glistening with a dollop of ghee on the top, and sent it across to my near and dear ones. It was my first meal, of my own stipend, prepared by me. Enthusiastically, I went and shared a good portion of it with the watchman on the campus. Joking about his digestive capacity, I waited longingly for just one comment of approval. He was shocked already to know that I had turned the stove on for doing a little more than boiling water or making tea. He readily tasted and gave it a "thumbs up". I went back to my room and ate the dish with so much elation, I could have been the Masterchef at any five star hotel. But I wasn't. All that mattered to me that Sunday was my involvement in every stage of preparing and consuming my food. It was nothing grand, but it had my whole attention. It was a hearty meal.

Khichdi soon became a fortnightly affair and I had experimented with different vegetables, techniques- turmeric first, dal next, etc. Visiting Delhi in a weekend between, I satiated my desire to have Chinese food (and South-Indian at a definitely over-priced Hotel Saravana Bhavan). Nonetheless, the deep craving to have these food items, made me relish every bite of the food. Despite the noisy of environment of the extremely busy restaurants and the enjoyable company of my friends, I could shower my meal with enough love and attention to feel gratified by the end of the process. This meal was hearty simply for it being an overwhelming consequence of an "absence-from-urban" experience. But the khichdis and the noodles of the world did not fill my stomach to the extent that Uday Singh's lunch did.

Uday Singh is the cook at SCRIA and over the past months, we have developed a nice bond of friendship. He and the other housekeeping staff at SCRIA live in a village called Gumina, about 6-7 kms off Khori. It had been over two months that he kept calling me to his home for lunch on any Sunday. Seeing that my tenure in Haryana was coming to an end, I accepted his invite and told him to prepare nothing special. His kids and niece and nephew were stationed by the side of the road to receive me. Their shy grins and hesistant, "namaste Madam" were so becoming. I was slightly late and the family had already eaten brunch, so it was going to be just me eating. Jeetendar, Tanuj, Sonia and Himanshu were circling around their granny at the stove, urging her to bake nice, hot, round, rotis. A simple but delicious side-dish of cauliflower and potatoe was served with the just-from-the-stove rotis. I was just about to tear into the piece of wheat, when Uday Singh asked me to wait. As I looked up startled, he cut a block of homemade butter and lathered it on my rotis. Despite my vehement protest, I was served roti after roti lathered with enough butter to make half a dozen club sandwiches! Just not this, a spicy tomato-onion chutney and a big glass of buttermilk to the brim added to it too. I had to knock it down without any complaint, the kids were all watching me eagerly. They were already pleased with the box of sweets I had bought for them. In their very own way of reciprocating, they offered me a big chunk of jaggery after my really heavy lunch. 

Jeetendar, Himanshu, Sonia and Tanuj with their grandmother; all of them happy to host me and ready to give company for the whole day! Their grins did not once fall.

This was just the start of their expression of love. They took me by my hand across the fields of the village, to the houses of the other staff, chatted like senior citizens at a tea-stall and forcibly took me back to their home before I parted for the evening. Himanshu all of 6 years, fascinated by my camera, posed happily and also learnt to operate it! All the other children, just turning 12, kept joking and giving me enjoyable company throughout the day. After the small tour of Gumina and meeting of elders, I was ready to leave. With a choked voice, Uday Singh said, "hum gareeb hain, agar humse koi galti hui toh maaf kar dena." we are poor people, if we have offended you in any manner, kindly forgive us. I was left humbled. I was at the receiving end of all the good food and the affection, yet he was the one who expressed privilege in having me as a guest. I did not have enough words to tell him, how filled my stomach was, how warm my heart was! In a long long time, I had had the august company of loved ones and really simple home-made food to nourish me.

Himanshu and Tanuj leading my way across the fields into the village.
Have you noticed how a kid walks in his territory? Absolutely carefree, like he owns the place. The gait, the demeanour and the happy mannerisms show a deep connectivity between the individual and the environment.

Soon, I was making my way back to Khori, when the kids who came to drop me till the end of the road shouted, "agle Sunday bhi aana, buaji".  Come next Sunday, too, Buaji, they had called me- their father's sister. From Madam in the morning to Bua in the evening, this meal was surely the best one with this memorable a dessert. Within a week, I had to go home. And as circumstance would have it, all my relatives were around and I was being served traditional south-Indian fare three times a day. Everytime, on a plantain leaf. The variety and delicacies that I had so craved for the previous month were all in-form, on-platter. Even with the many conversations, TV running and mobile phone by the side, my eyes, hands and mouth had space only for the food in front of me. After my days away from a city, I have now understood how to savour every meal and be grateful for it. The stomach and heart may be two different things at two different levels, but I have learnt that a little caring and understanding can make anything a harmonious affair. A picture of a malnourished kid and a preying vulture need not remind me to be grateful for my meal, I just have to BE IN THE MOMENT to savour it. Next time you eat, watch your food, touch it, feel it, taste it and be grateful for it! 

PS: For all my meals to come and for all my meals enjoyed, anna data sukhi bhava!

 May the provider of my food be bestowed with happiness.   

Uday Singh (2nd from left) with his father and few other family members and villagers, sharing a light moment before I left for Khori. The smiles on their faces completely satiated my hunger.