My medieval thoughts...

For reasons best known to the ‘feminist’ in me, I have been closely and almost fanatically following the entire Sabarimala Temple issue since the topic became a dining-table topic. I must confess that I am neither a very religious Hindu nor am I a female with extremely polarized opinion on ‘Venus-Mars equality’. It had become an obsession of sorts to my ignorant psyche to see a female (within the menstruating age range) enter the imposing and forbidden premises of the shrine devoted to Lord Ayyappa. I also confess that till I did an exhaustive search on Google for who exactly Ayyappa is and why the mighty Lord really shuns female attention, my knowledge about his lordship was as meager as greenery in Greenland.
After burning the midnight oil for a couple of days I knew that Ayyappa/Ayyappan is the Hindu god of growth, particularly popular in Kerala and the rest of South India. He is the son of Shiva and Mohini – the female avatar of Vishnu. This deity is also honored by some Muslims in Kerala, with legends wherein Ayyappa defeats and gains worship of the Muslim brigand Vavar. He was born with the powers of Shiva and Vishnu to confront and defeat the shape shifting evil Buffalo demonessMahishasuri. He was raised by a childless royal couple, and grows up as a warrior yogi champion of ethical and dharmic living. While Lord Ayyappa was still a minor, lady-demonMahishasuri had created havoc in the down south. She had got a boon from gods that she could only be defeated by the son born out of the union of Lord Shiva and Lord Vishnu. As it happened, Lord Ayyappa defeated her in a battle. Upon her defeat, it was revealed that the demon was actually a beautiful young woman who had been cursed to live the life of a demon. The defeat set the woman free who, in turn, proposed to Lord Ayyappa. He refused, saying that he had been ordained to go to forest and answer the prayers of devotees. But, the young woman was persistent. So, Lord Ayyappa promised to marry her the day kanni-swamis (new devotees) stop visiting him with their prayers at Sabarimala. The woman agreed to wait for him at a neighbouring temple. The woman is also worshipped today as Malikapurathamma at a neighbouring temple. The legend goes further saying that in honour of Malikapurathamma, Lord Ayyappa does not receive any menstruating woman. Also, the women chose not to visit Lord Ayyappa for it would be an insult toMalikapurathamma's love and sacrifice.
While it is not clear why Lord Ayyappa decided to leave Mahishasuri and remain aloof in a temple which is basically a male bastion, I do realize that the aftermath that followed (and which is still ongoing) is ugly, meaningless and totally futile.
Yes, despite being a woman who has a respectable career and sometimes endorses hardcore feminist views I do not see any reason to pass a judgment by the highest legal authority of the country to let women devotees enter the shrine.
I would rather have been more welcoming to a ruling which could have declared shoot-on-sight orders for pedophiles and rapists. Sometimes I feel that challenging tradition has become an empty fad to grab attention and shift the focus from relevant matters to practically meaningless ones. Or is it just that we have acquired this  habit of questioning and wrestling everything that goes beyond the realms of an inquisitive scientific mind??
We learn about traditions when we are young, and when we grow older we naturally want to protect what our elders taught us. There is an inherent tendency to protect our traditions. And I feel that this trait is necessary to preserve our past. Entire communities bond around traditions and rituals, and that is a powerful uniting force, but it simultaneously creates great social pressure not to challenge them. The longevity of a custom passed from one generation to the next can have many reasons, some good and some bad. I agree that persistence alone cannot provide moral or social justification. And I also feel that better questions need to be asked about traditions before we judge their value. For example, in my part of the country, it has always been the son who does the after-death rituals for the father, even if the son had never bothered to take care of his parents during the latter’s lifetime. But it is a refreshing change these days to see daughters performing the same rite for the parents too.
So, I wonder, should we not make any attempt to challenge or change whatever has been handed over to us from our grandmother’s times? Well, to be very honest, it is a foolish endeavor to resist change. The danger is that in resisting change both regress and progress are prevented. It keeps the status quo strongly in place. If a society wishes to help the next generation have better lives than the previous, than it demands a periodic retrospection of what those traditions were meant to do, and to compare them with the effect they have now. But I doubt the veracity of certain changes. I need mammoth self-control to suppress  the urge to stop the ‘processions’ onDashami evenings when drunk devotees take out their mandatory loud playlist of double-meaning laced loud film songs and make a mockery of the Goddess for whom we wait an entire year. I see no rhyme or reason for the policemen in Kerala to escort helmet-clad glorified female activist and journalist for offering prayers to Lord Ayyappa who, according to history and mythology, is not interested in taking offerings from them.
What we need today is a confident mass, an educated (and I do not mean high-sounding degrees here) youth and an empathic and compassionate psyche. Armed with a wisdom (if I may dare say this) that comes only with experience and age, I miss the compassion among the people today, I sort-of fear the self-obsession that fills up our lives these days and I want to run away from the mentality where I am deemed correct because I am into money.  It’s the confident community, and the empathic community, who can recognize and appreciate a strong idea, handed down the generations, which can withstand being questioned, which can retain its logic despite being twisted and mutated over eras. And a truly strong community will recognize a problem, or accept that things have changed, and work to incorporate it, rather than hide behind the defense of longevity.
What we do today will be someone else’s history. All traditions are dynamic, shifting and changing, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse, but they are all in motion, just at a pace we rarely notice. It was this small pace that brought about the change in our thought processes that divided our country in 1947; it was this snail pace that allowed internet to decide how and with whom we should forge relationships; it was this slight motion which metamorphosed the art of journalism to this loud cacophony that we call ‘talk-shows’ these days; it was this slow pace that made us intolerant to other religious faiths and cemented the thoughts of fundamental views in our minds.
Traditions are just one of the many forces that tie us together. They do not make us demolish mosques and burn temples. Traditions do not teach up to brandish helmets and make a run to touch reclusive idols who doesn’t want our prayers. Traditions do not make us rape five year old girls and make vulgar videos of unsuspecting people and leak them online.
And maybe it is  tradition only that tells my medieval mind that Lord Ayyappa wishes to be allowed his privacy, that he intends to keep his feelings for Mahishasuri intact…..

From the Dee......

It happened again, thought Alan. This was the third time in as many days that he seemed oblivious to the loud calls from Beth, his better half for more than four decades, to take out Dan, their three year old St Bernard, out for a walk. Alan shook his shiny bald head in dismay...He wondered if at seventy eight he was going through the same  ordeal as his friend William who was now as sane as a drunk owl. 

Giving a quick peck on the cheek to Beth, Alan decided to go out alone for a walk. Dan will be taken care of by Beth, he knew that. Sometimes he wondered what drove his wife every day to carry out each task with clock like precision. He thought of the sleepless night that Beth spent with Roma, their first born, when she prepared for her examinations and Beth hovered around making her daughter comfortable - right from the perfect cup of coffee to adjusting the study lamp...When Winnie decided to get married to that French actor against her doting father's wishes, it was Beth who played the peacemaker.  Alan found himself wondering about his favourite younger daughter Winnie who had drifted apart from everyone after losing her husband in a car mishap a couple of years back.

Alan steered towards the impeccably maintained park near the newly opened hyper market. The park has become a favourite place for him to spend a few moments with himself these days. 

Yes, hidden from Beth, unknown to Roma and stealthily from Winnie, Alan has been wondering a lot about his childhood these days. It was time for the finale, the curtain call. Alan wondered if he would ever be able to see his place of birth before he closed his eyes forever...The place which he left behind more than fifty years back, almost a lifetime back..

It must be twilight in his village now. It must have been a hot day...His brother Parama had mentioned about buying an inverter with the money that Alan had sent him a few weeks back. Yes, he was glad that he could offer something to Parama, his little darling brother...Smoke from the earthen sula in the cosy kitchen must be winding its way up, finding its way to the sky above. Parama worked hard in the fields. He has always been the more sincere one. The harvested and sacked paddy will be taken to the town sometime around next week, Parama had said. Hopefully there will be a profit this year.

Alan's reverie was broken by the sudden laughter of the two elderly ladies who were regular joggers in the park. They look worn out, like they’ve been walking for a while.  They walk along, talking to each other and laughing. His mind flew to the youngest daughter of Lakhi Sir, Mala. Yes, Mala had been beautiful. Now resting in the village’s dilapidated (and, as he always believed, haunted!) cremation ground near the river, Mala had once been the cynosure of every young lad’s eyes in Lahingia, the sleepy village of his childhood in Sivasagar. Yes, it has been quite a journey, Alan mused, from the Dikhow to the Dee; from the Mala's oiled, long, thick braid to the flowing brunette locks of Beth, from the smell of first rain of the season to the fragrance of cognac…

As a twenty something young man, Alan had planned to follow his father’s footsteps and till the fields. Or rather, Alok Baruah of Lahingia village had. But his life has been as unpredictable as the weather of North Wales, which has been his home for decades now. He lived in this town his whole life, and now that he’s getting older, the younger people are taking over. But he still carries on, to  help Beth in the confectionery shop which she set up five years back, to play with the toddlers in the neighborhood and visit the museums which he could never do while being professionally active.

Alan sighed heavily and made a decision. He will tell Beth about it tonight, during dinner. He knew that Beth couldn’t appreciate Lahingia when they went there together around twenty five years back; he will make a solo trip for a month or so. October seemed to be a good time to visit. The atheist in him suddenly wished to sleep awhile, and he craved to feel the feeling of being a part of sarbojanin Durga puja.  Maybe he will be able to catch up with his buddies Jogen and Nitai too in the puja mandap -  there was not much time left before they said their final good byes...A bright speck from a hazy sequence in his memory lane brushed through his misty eyes, making him raise questions, and propelling him towards a route from the Dee to the Dikhow….. 

बंजारा (जावेद अख़्तर)

मैं बंजारा

वक़्त के कितने शहरों से गुज़रा हूँ

लेकिन वक़्त के इस इक शहर से जाते जाते मुड़ के देख रहा हूँ

सोच रहा हूँ

तुम से मेरा ये नाता भी टूट रहा है

तुम ने मुझ को छोड़ा था जिस शहर में आकर

वक़्त का अब वो शहर भी मुझ से छूट रहा है

मुझ को विदा करने आए हैं

इस नगरी के सारे बासी

वो सारे दिन , जिन के कंधे पर सोती है

अब भी तुम्हारी ज़ुल्फ़ की ख़ुशबू

सारे लम्हे , जिन के माथे पर रौशन

अब भी तुम्हारे लम्स का टीका

नम आँखों से गुम-सुम मुझ को देख रहे हैं

मुझ को इन के दुख का पता है

इन को मेरे ग़म की ख़बर है

लेकिन मुझ को हुक्म-ए-सफ़र है

जाना होगा  - वक़्त के अगले शहर मुझे अब जाना होगा

वक़्त के अगले शहर के सारे बाशिंदे  - सब दिन सब रातें

जो तुम से ना-वाक़िफ़ होंगे

वो कब मेरी बात सुनेंगे

मुझ से कहेंगे

जाओ अपनी राह लो राही

हम को कितने काम पड़े हैं

जो बीती सो बीत गई

अब वो बातें क्यूँ दोहराते हो

कंधे पर ये झोली रक्खे

क्यूँ फिरते हो, क्या पाते हो ???

मैं बे-चारा

इक बंजारा

आवारा फिरते फिरते जब थक जाऊँगा

तन्हाई के टीले पर जा कर बैठूँगा

फिर जैसे पहचान के मुझ को

इक बंजारा जान के मुझ को

वक़्त के अगले शहर के सारे नन्हे-मुन्ने भोले लम्हे

नंगे पाँव

दौड़े दौड़े भागे भागे आ जाएँगे

मुझ को घेर के बैठेंगे

और मुझ से कहेंगे

क्यूँ बंजारे

तुम तो वक़्त के कितने शहरों से गुज़रे हो

उन शहरों की कोई कहानी हमें सुनाओ..

उन से कहूँगा

नन्हे लम्हो!

एक थी रानी

सुन के कहानी

सारे नन्हे लम्हे

ग़मगीं हो कर मुझ से ये पूछेंगे

तुम क्यूँ इन के शहर न आईं

लेकिन उन को बहला लूँगा

उन से कहूँगा

ये मत पूछो

आँखें मूँदो

और ये सोचो

तुम होतीं तो कैसा होता

तुम ये कहतीं

तुम वो कहतीं

तुम इस बात पे हैराँ होतीं

तुम उस बात पे कितनी हँसतीं

तुम होतीं तो ऐसा होता

तुम होतीं तो वैसा होता …

धीरे धीरे

मेरे सारे नन्हे लम्हे

सो जाएँगे

और मैं

फिर हौले से उठ कर

अपनी यादों की झोली कंधे पर रख कर फिर चल दूँगा

वक़्त के अगले शहर की जानिब

नन्हे लम्हों को समझाने

भूले लम्हों को बहलाने

यही कहानी फिर दोहराने

तुम होतीं तो ऐसा होता

तुम होतीं तो वैसा होता …….

The "in" words....

Enter a public place with a group of youngsters chatting away, and you are in for being linguistically isolated. New terms are entering the cultural lexicon.  I have been keeping my acoustic abilities alert and tenacious, trying to absorb the younger generation’s neo- linguistic milestones.

‘Fluid’ has always meant something that flows easily, related to a state of matter, for my generation of salwar/saree-during-durga-puja-and–denims-for-outing individuals. Sometime down the years when I was contemplating whether to invest in mutual funds or buy a term-plan for the sake of security of my kids the generation that followed mine decided to codify their sexual orientation and gender. In came something that initially glided over my aging shoulders (and dimming brain!) - the concept of ‘gender fluidity’. Everyone's gender exists on a spectrum and gender expression shifts between masculine and feminine. Now the younger lot is comfortable being not specific about the sense of what's normal and what is not. Words like ‘demiboy’, ‘androgynous’, etc. is commonplace these days. And one is expected now to the difference between ‘gender neutrality’ and ‘gender fluidity’. While Justice K.S. Panicker Radhakrishnan  and Justice Arjan Kumar Sikri had the potential to go down as just another couple of Supreme Court Judges, they got their name engraved in the Indian social system forever when they passed the landmark judgment of granting equal status to the ‘third gender’, our long-deprived fellow humans who were eventually brought at par with their male and female counterparts.

Let me now talk about the word ‘coffee’. This brew always brought in mind the image of steaming steel glasses in Malayali or Tamil households. ‘Madras Coffee House’, ‘Indian Coffee House’ and their brood made one nostalgic and crave for a cuppa to be savoured on a rainy evening. But now, COFFEE has arrived, and how! With quotes like ‘I have measured out my life with coffee spoons’, ‘A mathematician is a device for turning coffee into theorems’, ‘He was my cream, and I was his coffee - And when you poured us together, it was something’, etc. coffee has become a force to reckon with. ‘Coffee’ does not mean just ‘filter-coffee’ now; it come a long way from the backyards of middle-class homes in the sleepy towns of southern India to grace coffee blogs, coffee-books  and coffee tables of the rich and the famous. Greenstone Coffee, MoonMoon Coffee, Difference Coffee, Paradise Roasters, Noella Coffee are just a few appellations to the long list of exotic coffee varieties that tickle the average Indian palate these days. Kopi Luwak, a special type of Indonesian Coffee, costs upto Rs 5000 per cup! The romanticism and mystery in coffee seems to have taken its position with authority, and I cannot see that diminishing in the years to come.

Remember the affectionate words that our generation used to address friends and loved ones with, like “sweetheart”, “baby”, “honey”, “mate”, “dude” or “buddy”? Move over to the dark corner if you are still stuck to these primitive expressions. The word these days is ‘bae’ – ‘before anyone else’ or abbreviated form of ‘babe (Now it is another story that “bae” is also a Danish word for “poop”!). And I am also told that “cuddle bear”, “honey-cake horse” and “little mouse tooth” are not newly discovered animals but are the latest terms of endearment…

Do not imagine that ‘curve’ implies the contours of the beautiful lady at your workplace; these days it means to reject someone’s romantic advances. So you can ‘curve’ the irritating nag out of your life! And do not go out to the nearest restaurant when your colleague tells you to ‘sip tea’; it is rather a rude reminder telling you to mind your own business. And yes, beware of NIFOC and warn your teenage kids too (NIFOC – Naked In Front Of Computer).

Ever enjoyed a party without actually moving from your chair? Well, the generation these days do it – ‘digital hangouts’ is the trend these days.

Then there is ‘zero chill’ Well, there was a Salman Khan and there was a Katrina Kaif who crooned to ‘just chill, chill, just chill’. So, ‘zero chill’ is to do something very uncool.

‘Netspeak’ (Internet language) is getting harder and harder to understand especially for outdated souls like me. While I feel that acronyms (like  BFF, ROFL, TBH) were created as an effort to save keystrokes, the effort of technologically challenged creatures like yours truly to get used to this new language trend is getting insurmountable with each passing day.

In fact, each generation comes up with its own words. And if you have FOMO( fear of missing out) better make friends with your teenage kids and nephews and nieces and remain upgraded!

COUNTING...STILL!

It all started with the irritated retort of a friend telling me to shut up for good when I was regaling him with the number of grams I had lost post workout in the gym. Though it did hurt a bit at that moment (for losing a drop out of the ocean of fat meant quite a lot to this peri-menopausal self-obsessed woman), in retrospect it seems that my friend was right in reprimanding me for this paranoid obsession with numbers. Strange how a number makes something seem important, relevant and immediate. And these days, when one – to – one human interaction is a rarity, we seem to have taken this obsession to a whole new level. I remember the grown-ups during our times stress over the number of guests expected for social gatherings like weddings, or discussing about not having enough money in the last week of the month for the necessities of life; their rendezvous with numbers stopped at these issues only. But our generation has become obsessed with numbers in a whole new light involving everything about our existence. There is an alarming increase in the tendency to rely on numbers as the sole measurement for achievement, without taking into consideration the range of other influences.

A few days back, I was browsing thorough travel sites to add a few places of interest in my bucket list. The advertisements and pop-ups ran something like “36 Hours in Buenos Aires”, “Six Things to Make a Flight More Comfortable”, “Top Ten Travel Mistakes and How Not To Make Them”, and etc, etc. I wonder how can it be possible to enjoy a holiday when I have to keep counting the hours at a particular place, the steps to be taken up to view the glaciers, the kilometers to be covered to see the flowers bloom…A mere quantitative outlook erases the nuances and the distinctions. Will I not miss the opportunity to have that unclassifiable, mysterious experience that existed when I was a kid and travelled without GPS and never knew after how many kilometres or hours the destination will arrive? The white and yellow milestones with the ominous numbers declaring “JORHAT 102 km” seemed nothing less than guardian angels. I also miss the enthusiastic overzealous bystanders playing carom (with kerosene lamps for better vision) who gave maze-like navigation ideas when they were asked about the directions to a particular place.

There also seem to be a dearth of real popularity these days. A place, a person or anything for that matter (including Justin Bieber’s shoelaces) climbs the ladder of popularity if it receives adequate “likes” or garners enough “followers” in social media.  The number of “likes and followers” makes or breaks a trend, a person, an event or a cause. One may look over at one’s competitor and feel disheartened by the fact that he/she  has far more fans and followers. But I wonder - are they all relevant – these ‘numbers’ of followers? Or are they just numbers for the sake of numbers?  Would it not be more practical and real if one  would rather have a handful of top quality contacts than thousands of followers who are purely following someone on the off chance that he/she too will be followed back and boost his/her own number of followers?

Political rallies rely on “number” of filled-up seats vis a vis the empty ones. And our media focuses on the huge crowd rather than the actual work that our elected leaders perform for the people who voted them to power.

Going back to the point from where I began this note, I agree that all this rigmarole of gymming, working out, jogging and all should be something pleasurable, something to look forward to. It should not zero down to something that is daily checked in uncalibrated weighing scales and counted in obscenely expensive fitness trackers. A favourite dessert should be relished just for the taste; it should not end up giving guilt pangs because the calorie-counting-device raised an alarm.

But yes, there are a few numbers from the yore which I miss. There was a time when I remembered all the landline phone numbers; with connectivity landing up in my palms about 15 years back, I seem to have lost my penchant for phone numbers totally. Also it is difficult to remember the birthdays of relatives and friends, unless I am prompted by the social media sites to wish someone dear.   

Sometimes I wish I could just do away with all the numbers that crowd my life these days. I already know how to count to a hundred. And I am sure I will never need more than a hundred of anything.

  

Musings of a Guwahatian...

Roaming in the perennially under-construction streets of Panbazar the other day, I wondered about the city I call home. According to the epic Mahabharata, Guwahati was the capital of the kings Narakasura and Bhagadatta. There is an inscription on a rock in the  Nilachal Hills that dates back to the 5th century AD and is incontrovertible proof that Guwahati has been home to a civilized settlement for at least two millennia. My city and the areas surrounding my state seldom figure in the descriptions and imaginations of the bulk of Indian historians, and yet the region has stood the test of time in its journey through the ages.

It was a unique feeling roaming aimlessly through the historical Panbazar. Most of the purchases are now made online, and it has been ages since I went to an actual market to buy something; the malls nearby are convenient. The Sheikh Brothers, the Mahamaya Hotel, the Friend’s Opticals – they all seemed to have stood still in time. The vintage parts of Guwahati are best explored by foot - the alleys and corridors whispering years of lores and stories to the receptive ears. The major areas that fall under this bracket are―the academic hub of Panbazar, the colonial remnant of Uzanbazar, the roads of Kharghuli, the entire area of Digholipukhuri and some parts of Aambari area.

Of late, Guwahati has undergone huge changes. You can say that Guwahati has gone under the knife for a major cosmetic change. But not every facelift or botox injection or silicon implant can be as perfect as Kim Kardashian’s derriere. While the war memorial on the bank of Digholipukhuri comes close to the youthfulness of Hema Malini in her sixties, the oblong statues which are nothing but caricatures of famous Assamese personalities are like the grossly disfigured lips of Donatella Versace post filler injections. Somewhere down the line, the clash between the historic city that Guwahati was and the sustainable city that Guwahati is trying to be seems to have reached a stage of gross imbalance. The sad part is that no one actually seems to be doing much about it, including yours truly who sits and blasts the municipality for the pathetic roads and the Rain God for the flash floods which drown the thinly layered roads after each spell of rainfall.

Issues like water supply or garbage disposal are discussed under the guise of metaphors of metabolism in bureaucratic meets, but nothing fruitful materializes. Every day on the way to my workplace, I wonder about the  shortage of basic services, traffic congestion, pollution and social disparities among others. These problems are only going to amplify in future, given the scale of deforestation and unplanned constructions. With all this talk of converting my laid back city into a ‘smart-city’, it is important to realize that there is a great deal of smartness in being sensitive to the ambient ecosystems.

Nevertheless, today was a happy day for me. Sitting in my car, I was cursing the PWD for the potholes on the road near my home that are soon turning into tributaries which will need to be drained into the Brahmaputra in the very near future. I was also upset about the frequent ‘power-cuts’ for ‘load-shedding’. Just as I reached Ganeshguri, I cast a glance upwards at the angry sun which was threatening to make the rest of the day unbearably hot and humid.  Suddenly I caught a glimpse of the huge billboard with a beaming Hima Das in all her glory proudly holding the triclour. And my mood took a dramatic three-sixty degrees turn! Guwahati still had a beating heart, the generation now which will soon take over from the older lot is responsible, street smart and capable. Maybe I should stop being so pessimistic about everything and concentrate on the ways and means to make each day better than the previous one. Maybe this is the spirit which makes my city the place it is now – ever-changing, everlasting….

Why we forgot to enjoy food?

Recently I read a wonderful article by Santosh Desai titled “The Fear of Food” which was forwarded to me by a close friend. The author has very beautifully described the attitude of our generation towards eating - the almost obsessive consciousness about calorie intake, vis-à-vis the carefree enjoyment of a good meal in the days of yore.

Going a step further than what Mr Desai described, we all these days seem to be suffering for cibophobia. We are increasingly becoming cocooned in our own small worlds, as we feel uncomfortable in social situations such as holiday gatherings, where it would be rude not to accept food.

We start eating healthier for our future.  It’s not eating healthy food that is the disease, but the vice-like grip of the mind on the idea of only eating healthy food - it becomes an obsession. Seemingly innocuous life limitations can be vital clues to discovering crippling food anxiety before it irrevocably impacts health, either physically or mentally. These are some warning signs, - like, if it matters what the menu is before you can accept a dinner invitation, if you can't travel because you will be faced with unfamiliar food, if you can't eat wedding cake at a birthday party, etc.

But I wonder, is this “super - consciousness” about what we eat and how much we eat totally unjustified?

Cut to two decades or so back, and chances are our grandparents had a much stricter routine for food consumption than we do now. Then it was typical for a family to have their meals at the same time every day (breakfast at 8 - 9 am, lunch at 1 - 2 pm and dinner at 9 - 10 pm) so their body was accustomed to knowing when to expect food. This sort of discipline helped to keep waistlines slim and food waste to a minimum. In the modern day, however, a lot of people have lost this disciplined approach to meals and no longer stick to the 3-square-meal-a-day rule. Skipping breakfast, snacking and several cups of coffee a day are notions that our grandparents would have neither considered nor approved. Foods were eaten only in season. The soil was naturally nutrient rich, and fruits and vegetables were picked when ripe (when nutrients fully developed). Naturally-occurring species filled our dining plates and animals ate their natural diet.

It goes without saying that eating habits have changed in the last couple of decades. Many things get added to our foods to enhance the taste, to colour the foodstuffs and to preserve the food for longer. Fast foods, pre-cooked foods and many other foodstuffs contain huge amounts of saturated animal fats. It enhances taste, but excessive consumption of this can lead to atherosclerotic changes. This can lead to heart attacks and strokes.

With the accelerated tension of modern day lifestyle, countless cups of tea/coffee, cigarette and alcohol intake has become a way of life. Both tea and coffee contain caffeine, but so do chocolate, cocoa and cola drinks. Caffeine overload makes it difficult for our bodies to absorb essential nutrients and it can make us suffer from nervous tension, irritability, insomnia and headaches. Excessive tea and coffee drinking was uncommon a hundred years ago - today every workplace has a tea club, atleast my workplace does! Many of the foods that contain sugar and saturated animal fats also contain much salt. We generally eat between 10 and 20 times the salt our bodies need. High salt consumption can contribute to high blood pressure.

Foods like soft drinks, processed foods, canned, prepackaged and convenience foods as well as ready-made sauces are high in phosphorus which impedes the absorption of good nutrients and also interferes with calcium absorption by bone tissue. Also, many of the foods available contain chemical additives which are used as flavour enhancers, colourants and preservatives. Some are harmless, but quite a few are not. And anyway, our bodies are not designed to deal with these additives.

Recently, during a holiday trip to New Zealand, I was impressed with the symmetrical, almost perfect vegetables which were comparatively cheaper than the vegetables found in the local markets in Guwahati. The attendants in the store told me that those were “GM” vegetables, genetically modified to suit our palates. The chillies were seedless, the onions were “manufactured” to give a “tearless” chopping experience, the tomatoes were an ideal red, etc. So, every naturally vegetable and fruit under the sun is now genetically modified to contain genetics and chemicals with unknown effects. Also, there is year round availability of everything. Crop rotation is no longer practiced and chemicals kill the microorganisms which otherwise support nutrient value. Contaminated with pesticides, herbicides, fungicides, waxed & irradiated, every food item is now customized and presented in such a manner that we have almost forgotten how the worm inside litchis and mangoes looked! Antibiotics are sprayed on vegetables, and all fresh fruit, cereals and vegetables are sprayed with pesticides at least once. It is almost impossible to avoid this, unless we buy organically grown fruit and vegetables. 

Even meat animals are bombarded with antibiotics, often to the point where they become resistant to them. They are also often used to promote growth and prevent illness in the animals. This overload is passed on to us when we eat their meat.

The point is, while Mr Desai is right about our generation’s failure to enjoy food and mechanically counting calories after each bite, one cannot deny the fact that there is a sea of change between the “food then” and the “food now”. Add to this our sedentary lifestyles and daily routine, and food ceases to be a pleasure. Much physical work has been taken over by machines, and generally we need less energy than they did before.

Ask any man who is atleast two generations older than us, and you will be told that active lifestyles were required then to get food. People ate their dinner and went to sleep when it was dark – unfortunately, fast food joints, electricity and television changed that…

But yes, food should continue to remain an experience to cherish, not something to fear.

“There is no love sincerer than the love of food.”  - George Bernard Shaw

Between you and me...

The space between you and me..
Ever wondered about it?
The nebulated dreams that span the years,
And the tiny threads that bind our destinies...
I sense the presence of  tinted realities ,
Of buried regrets and torn memories..
The space between us
Holds no tension, no questions, no accusations....
The space forgives our happinesses,
It  remembers that you and I were once alone,
And the crowd we see in our life today -
They are just as unecessary as when we were alone...
The space between you and me...
It disappears in a hurricane of words
And sometimes it echoes of emptiness ..
In the space my past and my future meet,
But I never find my present there...
The liquid moonlight bring me a silver bowl of liquid possibilities to fill up the space,
But as I reach out, I end up with sheer nothingness...an eerie silence..
This space between you and me,
Is the only truth ...between you and me....