Traits.

(16 Oct 11)

            I love people with good appetites. It's a sign of health and well-being. A variety of dishes at a table is a sign of prosperity.

            At conferences in hotels, parties at restaurants or community halls, dinners with friends, it warms my heart to see folks pile their plates with salad, rice, roti, chicken, mutton, vegetables, whatever is placed before them, all in one go. I feel even better when I see them digging into it, forkful by spoonful. The morsels thus shovelled into the mouth are attentively chewed, encouraged by the tongue to relocate from one cheek to the other, teeth doing their jobs of grinding the mixture of boiled and fried green and brown stuff until it is interred into the gullet to make way for the next bite. In between, talking happens. Through sprays of spit, bitchy news is exchanged, factual or otherwise, gossip takes its turn, polite conversation and silly jokes punctuate the air. In gatherings of educated and well-travelled persons, whilst oily curries dribble down chins, notes of how to make even more money are exchanged. I enjoy all of that. Right to the point when the burp indicates it's time to make one's way to the desserts. Burping, stuffing is not considered rude hereabout. Foreigners have a  different system of measuring satisfaction and sophistication.            Coming back to my story: burp over, an elbow is stretched and the plate with uneaten flesh and flora, cooked and raw, is placed on the nearest flat surface. If someone's sitting and eating right next to where the plate is plonked, one looks away. If organisers have kept a table for used utensils, or if there are waiters hovering around both are ignored.

            Quite often, the meat and vegetables per plate could comprise the square meal of another human being. Fascinating: degree-and-certificate collectors, payers (and shirkers) of income-tax, can't assess how much their stomachs can hold. Is wastage of food a sign of prosperity? Maybe I’ve not been that prosperous in my life and that's why I don't know.  I also don't know whether it's stylish to over-serve and make a gruelly mess in one's plate whilst chatting and socialising.  Woe is me, ignoramus.

            Those who have eaten every grain of rice, and mopped up the last drop of gravy look embarrassed, not knowing where to put their plates. It's almost like they've returned from Somalia. They slink into a corner and feel guilty about having finished all that was on their plates. I belong to that breed. There are times when I feel like joining the queue again (oh, standing in a queue versus punching your way in to get that puri or chicken leg or papad is another story which will be told another time) just to add a couple of food bits to make my plate look 'with it'. 

            My parents (neighbours and relatives, too) had at some early stage of my life insisted that I finish all that was placed before me. Later, my husband's clan insisted that I take only as much as I could consume. The conditioning has left me handicapped. I can't overeat and  I can't waste. I can't serve in excess of what I believe I can finish. If I do, I’m programmed to swallow it all. It has made me a misfit in Goa.

            Whatever,..  I still enjoy watching people in good health eat. There's a philosophical appreciation of the act, a oneness with the Elements of Life, a concentration, focus, passion so true, so enveloping. The slurpy sloppiness is matched by other communities elsewhere, but we're the best. Kudos to us.

            I’ve shifted to the edge of urbanity: beyond Panaji, there is parking space, village life and garbage. Ah, garbage. That's the second thing I enjoy watching people do: dump their garbage. The simpletons dump theirs over their wall into a vacant neighbouring plot. Those unlucky enough to have resident neighbours walk across to the closest vacant plot and dump theirs there. If the entire colony/village is occupied with garbage generators, then the road to it will let you know that. Eggshells, shiny plastic packets showing us which brand of what masala they once contained, banana and other peels, fish bones, human hair, bits of broken glass pieces, faded and cracked two-wheeler seat-covers, coconut shells, old mops, and more.

            Said a friend who is passionate about 'the greenery' in Goa: we must get the panchayat to do something about this eyesore. Eyesore? What eyesore? Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. Silly cribber, that friend. I asked: You want to see coconut trees? One is like any other. You want to smell the flowers? They smell the same in Panaji or Margao. It's the garbage that gives you the feel of the place and the people. If you really want to know what Goa and Goans are like, watch them eat, smell their garbage. It's not difficult, it's all around you. It's the obvious that one always misses and the little things in life that one fails to enjoy. Thus speak the wise ones. Carpe Diem. I’ve managed what the gurus have said. I see only the positives, overlook the negatives, and life is good. 

            Yes!!

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