Loving homemade food over fast food
There is no sincerer love than the love for food. That’s how playwright George Bernard Shaw summed up the significance of food in our lives. Food and man are made for each other but as the wheel of science is progressing at breakneck speed, man is spoilt for choice and quantum of food.
The staple diet of people has been replaced by tongue-twisting and mouthwatering dishes and delicacies imported from different cultures and countries. For youngsters, homemade food has taken a back seat. The difficult to decipher and hard to pronounce menus of international chains of eateries have become the flavour of the day.
We grew up in times when Lal Bahadur Shastri, our resolute prime minister, gave the country the slogan of Jai Jawaan, Jai Kisan and urged people to fast for a day every week to tide over the food crisis. My mother took pains to inculcate in us the habit of eating homemade fresh vegetarian food and made sure we didn’t waste a grain. A pious woman, she would often say, “Jaisa ann vaisa mann (As is our food, so are our thoughts).”
But times have changed and we are flooded with chains of fancy restaurants, online delivery services, lavish marriage parties offering well-spread buffets, tempting one and all to ingest more than one can digest. A sedentary lifestyle coupled with high-calorie food is endowing us with an ever-increasing layer of adipose tissue.
I, a diehard fan of homecooked meals, am often at my wits’ end, when I have to travel in or out of the country. Insipid tea and coffee and bland food served in trains and planes is a detestable affair for me. I always try to carry homemade food while travelling and don’t hesitate in enjoying the same, while everyone is busy downing burgers with sugary drinks.
Last year, when I went to Phuket in Thailand with my family, I asked my wife to pack paranthas and mango pickle for me. She scoffed at the idea but nevertheless relented and I had my tiffin in the handbag, while our children kept discussing names of burgers, sandwiches and sauces they would try at Bangkok airport. Waiting for our connecting flight to Phuket at the airport, while I gorged on my homemade meal, the children dug into submarine sandwiches. I enjoyed my meal to the heart’s content and watched them coaxing each other to finish the expensive but abominable platter.
A few months ago while travelling to Delhi by train, I didn’t hesitate a wee bit before opening my tiffin that contained chapattis, aloo ki sabzi and achar. A Sikh gentleman sitting behind my seat tapped me on the shoulder to say, “There’s nothing like the aroma of homecooked food.” I invited him to join me for lunch and he lost no time in accepting the offer. He politely returned the aluminium-foil wrapped rich-in-oil poor-in-taste food provided by the caterers.
The other day on my birthday, my wife asked, “What would you like to have today?” I was ready with the meal plan of yellow dal, stuffed karela (bitter gourd), a fist-crushed onion and missi rotis. Obviously, it didn’t cut ice with her but for me it was the perfect icing on my birthday cake.
MY MOTHER TOOK PAINS TO INCULCATE IN US THE HABIT OF EATING HOMEMADE FOOD AND MADE SURE WE DIDN’T WASTE A GRAIN