Story of Mindful eating

This is the story of how I ate my Veg Pulav.

In the first week of January, I went to airport to drop my son. He was on his way to Pilani in Rajasthan where he was doing his graduation in computer science.

While returning from airport I had breakfast at Adigas Vijaya on Ashok Pillar road. I had Veg Pulav. It was divine. As I received the steaming food at the counter, I gave it a scan. The food was a feast for the eyes. It was a medley of colours on the plate. The pulav itself was mildly yellow in colour, due to the haldi (turmeric) added while cooking. The orange hue of the carrot, the green of the beans, the light brown bread crumbs, the purple raw onion, the deep brown of the spices and the milky white of the Raita.. All of them made the pulav into a kaleidoscope of colours and a feast for the eyes.

As I walked to my table, I took in the flavour of the Pulav. To add to the flavour, the cook had used fried bayleaves, nutmeg, cinnamon and cardamom as the base ingredients for the pulav. The distinctive scent of these ingredients mixed in the perfect balance provided a delectable aroma and added to the pulav experience. 

I took a small morsel to test the waters as it were. The exquisite presentation and the ambrosial aroma had created tantalizing expectation that I was worried the food will not be able live up to. I should not have worried. The pulav was made of broken Sona Masuri rice, I think. Each grain felt very small in the mouth. The carrot was boiled just enough, to be soft while biting but not mushy. The beans was also boiled to the same consistency as the carrot. So when I was biting them, I had a pleasurable feeling of contributing my bit to the pulav eating experience. I was a partner in the process, not just a bystander. The food was not just siddling into the gullet. It was spending a delightful few moments in the mouth before resuming its onward journey to my gullet enroute to the ultimate destination, my gut.

While carrots and beans were soft but firm (what else can you describe thus?) it was not so with the bread crumbs. They were fried in too much of oil and were very soft. When I put a crumb in my  mouth, it just melted away. It was almost like I was an observer as the bread crumb took its own decision to slide down my gullet. I felt let down. I felt useless. I felt worthless.

I felt redundant and superfluous, if you see what I mean. 

After giving so many words to describe my situation, if you still can't see how I felt, I can't help you.

I mean.... You know

As I consigned each morsel to the mouth, the melange of distinct aromas of the spices, the distinct feel of biting into the carrots and beans, the smoothness of the the bread crumbs and the crispy feeling of biting into raw onion of the raita all created a fusion dance in my mouth ably escorted by the mildly sour yogurt in the raita.

Eating each morsel was a mix of expectation, elation and again sadness. The expectations mounted as I slowly and deliberately mixed the Raita and onion in the pulav. My mouth opened and closed impatiently as in tandeem with my hand as I mixed the items on the plate. As the food moved from the spoon to the mouth it was elation time as the fusion dance started in the mouth. After lingering in the mouth for an ‘Oh so small’ moment, as the food moved into the gullet I felt sad. As each morsel went down, I was sad that it was one morsel less on the plate. 

The gradually diminishing quantity on the plate made me sad. .

It was as mindful an eating as you can think of.

It was fun while it lasted. I was both happy and sad when it ended, when the last grain of pulav was washed down my gullet with the aid of Raita. Happy to have been a part of a delectable experience and sad that it had ended.

They all do, don't they?