'I just wanted to see' - that's what they always say, isn't it, when they're caught? By way of explanation, justification, or even apology: 'I just wanted to see...' But seeing gives way to more compelling senses - touch, smell, taste, intimate exploration of the forbidden. Until time silently runs away, leaving the culprit inextricably linked with the evidence of their dirty deed and mealy mouthed excuses. 'I just wanted to see'.
I just wanted to see what was for breakfast this morning. My relationship with food has taken an interesting turn since coming to India. I like to think it has matured somewhat; the cries of my stomach no longer imperative as I've gained mastery over my tastebuds. My appreciation for good food is healthy, respectful, but not indulgent or slavering. Whatever comes later goes, and all that jazz.
It hasn't always been like this. Like many people where food is over abundant, I used to comfort eat, using food to fill any void identified at each particular moment. Bored? Have a bar of chocolate. Unhappy? Have a piece of cake to cheer you up. Happy? Have a celebratory doughnut. Angry? Have some ice cream to take your mind off things. Lonely? Go out for dessert with friends. And so on ad nauseum (not literally though, thankfully - although that phenomenon is sadly all too common). I decided that something needed to be done, starting a strict new regime of healthy food and regular excercise. 'Don't worry', reassured all my peers, 'you'll lose weight in India'.
I was bound to lose weight in India, I was told, because of Delhi belly. I'd definitely get some form of gastroenteritis at some point in my 6 week stay. I'd return gaunt, having lost essential calories. I wasn't so sure of this. Surely anyone with a basic education and access to good sanitation and potable water had enough to protect themselves from deadly tummy bugs? Remember, I was surrounded by public health posters from numerous government and non governmental organisations when growing up. Their directives were habitual: wash your hands before and after eating, wash your hands before and after toileting, before and after touching animals - in fact, before and after everything. Always cover food. Don't eat food from an unkown source. Only drink water that has been boiled and filtered. Do this and live.
No, I wasn't going to lose weight because of infection. I would lose weight because of discipline. I knew that out in rural India there would be limited opportunities for snacking on confectionery and pastries and all the other energy dense, nutrient deficient treats that have become routine indulgences. I would miss them. But it would do me good. It would be just like boarding school in Nigeria, 25 acres in the middle of the bush separated from the nearest village by a single dirt track - the only shop run by female teachers whose foremost priority was not financial gain, but the health of the children for whom they were in loco parentis. Little potential for pigging out there. Thankfully, as an adult I would have more freedom. There would be no compulsion to eat what was set before me. And why should there be? I'd have the maturity to eat it all anyway, the adventurous spirit to subsist only on the local cuisine of my new home (ignoring my mother's entreaties to at least take some cereal to snack on in case I didn't like the food) and even enjoy it. I would live as the locals live. 'Don't eat too much curry', my sister advised as I left, 'remember what happened last time you had really spicy food' (I had ended up in A&E with crampy abdominal pain). I laughed.
The first few days were difficult. I realised that as is almost always the case, my mother was right. I hadn't anticipted skipped meals as a cause of weight loss, but as I adjusted to the diet, this was precisely what happened. Rice for breakfast? Mba, no thanks. Bread? Boring. Eggs? Odikwa risky risky risky. Rice and dal fun onje osan l'ojojumo? No meat at lunchtime? The same watery lentil soup everyday, not at all what I associated with dal back home? As someone else asked, were we Oliver Twist? I was nearly glad my previous attempts at weight loss had turned out to be perfunctory. These fat reserves would need to last a long time. Or so I thought as each day I looked forward to dinner and the promise of meat. It was like a new slim-fast diet: water for breakfast, 2 chappatis at lunch and a proper dinner! Having to coordinate my meals with my antimalarial prophylaxis meant I was never in any real danger of starvation. But now I was eating out of necessity and not from desire. I picked at my food like an anorexic, struggling to maintain the impression of enjoyment.
You see, people in India are incredibly hospitable. Everywhere you go you are offered a cup of chai - incredibly sweet and milky hot tea that is thankfully served in plastic shot glasses or miniature mugs. Coming across an acquaintance who is eating merits an invitation to join in (just like in Africa). The kitchen staff here are solicitous about your well being: have you got enough? Would you like some more? While there's no one standing over my shoulder making sure I don't waste food, my conscience itself would prick me: not just because of all the starving children, but more because I don't want to waste the labour of the kindly souls who made the food if I'm being honest.
If I'm still being honest then I have to confess that this didn't stop me from surreptitiously wasting a lot of food when I first got here, before my senses adapted enough to distinguish between what I would like and what I wouldn't, making me game to try everything but loth to finish it all. I would load my plate with helpings of all the food on offer at mealtimes and inevitably by the end of the meal what I'd discovered repulsed me would be left on the plate. Trial and error - an initially wasteful, but eventually effective way to learn.
Before I knew it I was no longer discriminating between meals - food was food. I knew what to avoid and what to anticipate. Pancakes some mornings, potato pottage and fried dough reminiscent of Yorkshire puddings -puri- on others, these things I anticipated. I timed my sleep-ins to coincide with breakfast rice. Scrambled eggs and bread would depend on my mood. And I grew to love vegetarian food. What do they say, that after the initial discomfort it takes about 6 weeks to form a new habit? I discovered some new condiments to help me along the way. Halopenos and steak sauce would accompany chapattis for a simple lunch devoid of the disliked deadly dal (which I have to say I am alone in maligning). I soon began to put on weight. I remembered what my warrior ancestor, the one from whom we get our surname, was called: 'Ayogunmaru'. The one who goes to war and doesn't waste away. I used to think maybe it was some genetic quality, slow metabolism perhaps, that explained my stable weight levels. Now I'm thinking maybe he was just adaptable too. Adaptable and resilient.
I just wanted to see what was for breakfast this morning, just in case we'd been served pancakes. I didn't really plan on eating if it was anything else. But I lingered a little too long in front of the empty pot of scrambled eggs until she saw me - the friendly member of kitchen staff who always smiles graciously when I say namaste. She wouldn't take no for an answer when I assured her that toast was quite OK for my breakfast. Instead, she went to the kitchen to get some more eggs. What could I do? I had to eat. The proof of the pudding is in the eating.
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