'Lets
wait till he is done', the accountant mumbled as I looked at him from behind
his computer, pretending to work. As the screen hid most of my face, I believe
he could not see the semblance of exasperation that passed. 'Sure, I'll wait' I
said, and walked down to the kitchen, one floor below. I could see the office
boy whispering as I passed, but I overlooked it. I smiled at my colleague who
was in the middle of his lunch, sitting down to keep him company. He offered me
his lunch, which I refused politely. I could see the spice filled chicken on
his side plate, and something that looked at fried fish wrapped in an
oil-stained paper next to him. The cuisine was my favorite, and the colleague
sitting opposite me was well aware of that. I could read the crease marks on
his forehead at my refusal to eat. Thankfully, he would not pay much attention
to it. I sat with him till he finished his lunch.
'Did you
touch his food?' the office boy, rash as usual remarked, as he sat down next to
me. 'What do u think?' I asked sharply. 'She's one of us, don’t bother her' the
accountant smiled as he sat at the dining table. We all opened our lunch boxes
and ate our vegetables and flat bread (roti sabzi) as usual. I tried my best to
hide my discomfort, while faintly
remembering the day I had decided on my apartment, almost 15 months ago. My
landlady was very sweet and the rent highly reasonable. As I was about to
leave, Neelam aunty casually asked, 'what biraadari (community) are you from?'
'Christian', I said slowly, watching her expression change, not so subtly.
'There will be no non-vegetarian food in my house.' her voice quavered, though
stern. I looked at her and said, 'I wont eat meat, but I eat eggs'. In the next
few minutes, her son managed to convince her about me as I stood and watched.
And so it was. Born and brought up in a city,
I had never seen this. In school and in college we could sit together and eat
whatever we wanted. Some of my best friends are vegetarians, as is my mother.
But their choice in food was personal and we respected each other just the
same. But it was here, in Sehore District (the place of my rural fieldwork)
that I encountered religion in food. My initial reaction to these bifurcations
was intrigue, as the anthropologist in me wanted to become part of this new
culture. It was also a mark of respect from my colleagues' devotion to a
non-violent religion that includes harming animals for food, that kept me from eating meat at work. I usually
reserved it for my lone dinner time. Even for dinner, I had to quietly go to
one of the few dingy shops in the market, where cooked meat was served, trying
not to look to conspicuous while doing it. Also with colleagues from different
parts of the country and enjoyed eating meat like I did, on some occasions.
It is
this reason why at the end of 2 years my colleague called me 'One of them'. I
was pleased at that reference, for I had achieved that status. At the same
time, it is saddening that food is something people can hold onto so strongly. Its actually the random insignificant details that remains etched
in the minds of people, often gnawing out the respect and acceptance they have
for each other, as time passes. That is not to say that they don’t help each
other when time comes. More often than not they do. But it usually matters of
food and drink that set them not only apart, but against one another. I hate to
say that I see a hypocrite in me doing what the dominant culture of the area dictates,
but it also satisfies me that I can blend in so well. I have been saved the
out-of-city-girl gossip that would have usually followed me here, but subtly
adjusting to their tastes, in more ways than one. What's more, I find the
cuisine healthier. But through all of this, there lies the feeling of not being
able to change mindsets around me, and bringing about acceptance without
succumbing to change. All I can aim to achieve is to treat both with equal
warmth, hoping that my presence acts as a balm for both sides.
I eat my
lunch in silence, my thoughts my own bile.
