Eat, Drink, and do Mehndi
My increasing sensitivity to wasteful consumption is a result of the vegetarian diet I have been following for the past two years, that I know for sure. The practice has essentially opened a small, rare window through which I can glimpse a different scene from the immediate reality, a scene which yields a more personal understanding of the vast, vast amount of the Earth's resources and creatures destroyed in order to satisfy such an inconsequential thing as the tastebud. Somewhere in the Bhagavad Gita (one of India's ancient texts), it talks of taste being the most uncontrollable of the 5 senses of the material world. I am beginning to agree. What ordinary person can resist the offer of a glass of wine, a barbequed steak, and chocolate cake? But I digress. All of this leads to the actual topic: how I came to appreciate the earthy, ingenius, compassionate, simplicity of the Indian way of partaking food.
It all began with the leaf. The 'aak' as I learned it is called; a large, fresh green banana leaf cut cleanly to the size of a place setting. It is placed right on one's table or on a steel plate. The aak is used in all dining occassions, from a casual meal at a'hotel' (the Indian term for restaurant) to a sumptuous wedding banquet. Once placed in front of you, the general practice is that you take water from the cup, pour it into your cupped hand, and sprinkle the water over the aak to cleanse it. Use the fingers to rub the water about the aak, then hold up the aak and let the excess run off on to the table.
This is your plate.
Completely biodegradeable, beautiful, natural, still vibrating with the energy of life. From a reiki standpoint, this is important. And from an economic standpoint, no need for dishwashing. Scrap the hired dishwashers, pass the savings onto the customer. Krishna, an important Hindu god, asked his devotees to offer him a leaf, a fruit, a flower, and some water... so, it seems to go with the overall Indian psyche to have one's meal on a leaf.
the aak on a steel plate
Your utenstils: your fingers
During mealtime at the Krishna temple, I would sometimes see some of the more "hardcore" devotees neglecting their spoons and eating with their right hand, the fingers becoming a gooey mess. This was natural for them; it was I who was out of place with my sterile plastic spoon. After some tries, I adapted and became comfortable using my right hand to eat the temple food. Thank God I did. Everyone in India eats with their hands. It is not a novelty gesture or an old custom or what not. No one thinks twice about it; this is just how to eat. The practice is to use your fingers to blend the curries in with the plain rice (and blend it well, I say!). Scoop a parcel of it to the mouth, and with a quick push of the thumb, you can consume it quickly and cleanly. I felt now, how many Americans feel when they are with a family of Asian descent at a Chinese restaurant. No one in the family thinks twice about using chopsticks, but to the non-Asian, it's jarringly unfamiliar.
Food from hand to mouth. No need to cut down acres of bamboo, no need to mold tons of plastics or smelt metal. The body's energy can interact with the food before it has even entered the body's system. And the sticky fingers? All eating areas seem to have a conveniently located niche in the main room called the Hand Wash. Or, if you do not want to get up, pouring water from the steel cup over your fingers and into a dish is fine too.
First Evening
My first evening at the bride's house in Bangalore, the aunties, children, bride and I were all sitting about the 2nd floor room having mehndi applied to our hands by two professional mehndi artists, one solely for the bride, and one for the rest of us. The boys, no older than 10, were jumping about and the the girls, of the same age range, were sitting together talking amongst themselves. One of the aunties, Tanuja, arrived in the room with a vat of what looked like pongal, soft rice flavored with spices. The children gathered round as she began to take the rice in her one hand and press it in such a way that it went from being a sticky glob to becoming a smooth, rounded egg of rice. The children would come from here and there, open their mouths, and she would pop the rice "eggs" into their mouths. Once a child finished his/her first mouthful, he/she would approach again and Tanuja would place another fresh-made egg into his mouth. I was fascinated by it all. It reminded me of the way a bird regurgitates her food and offers it to her peeping chicks in the nest. It struck me as such an endearing practice, food from hand to mouth. My only conception prior to this of how to feed a 6-year-old child, if one even did feed a 6-year-old child, was with a spoon or fork. This method was infinitely more intimate; perhaps one of the thousands of ways in which the close bonds of the Indian family are created.
Mehndi Time
The application of mehndi by the artist took about 10 minutes per person. In speaking with her, she said she began the practice 8 years ago; she also mentioned that it is something she never tires of. If the mehndi appeared too dry, we dabbed sugar water on it to dampen it so that it could continue to stain the skin. I was told I should sleep that night with the mehndi on my hands, after which I could wash it off in the morning and apply Vicks Vapor Rub on my hands to help it set. The bride's mehndi, however, was applied on her forearms and feet as well as her hands. Her pattern was intensely intricate and her mehndi process took well over two hours.
With nothing to do but wait until everyone had their mehndi applied, I decided to engage the children by asking how to count to 10 in Telugu, one of the main local languages of Karnataka state. Suddenly, the boys and girls all began to crowd around me, teaching me the numbers and telling me how many numbers they knew. "I can count to 60 in Telugu!" proclaimed one boy. "I can count to 100!", claimed another. From numbers, they moved on to talk of snakes and told fantastic stories. Each child was so excited to have his/her chance to speak that they sometimes began to speak before the other was done. It was as if, finally, an adult was listening to what they had to say. And they had plenty to talk about: animals, ghosts, their favorite Hindu gods (I enjoyed that particular conversation immensely). I began to become aware of the range of intellect among them. One small boy in particular was able to express himself more eloquently than the average American adult I thought.
By now it was nearly 10 o' clock and, save the bride, we all (about 7 aunties and 10 kids) had mehndi on our palms. Even the boys had some on their left palms just for fun. I was called down to dinner, and, not having the use of my hands, an auntie I had never met before offered to hand-feed me with a spoon. I accepted the offer thinking about the hand-to-mouth practice I had seen earlier. Even when my memories began at two years of age, I have no recollection of having been fed by my mother or my aunties. The children in India, from what I had seen, will have clear memories of this. Despite looking completely ridiculous, I experienced the doting love that came with being fed by an Indian mother.
