Well fed-up!

'Let’s wait till he is done', the accountant mumbled as he looked up from behind his computer. As the screen hid most of my face, he could not see the semblance of exasperation that passed across it. 'Sure, I'll wait' I said, and walked down to the kitchen. I could see the office boy whispering as I passed, but I overlooked it. I smiled at my colleague who was in the middle of his lunch, sitting down to keep him company. He offered it to me, which I refused politely. I could see the spiced chicken and fried fish on his plate. The cuisine was my favorite, and he was aware of that. I could read the crease marks on his forehead at my refusal to eat. Thankfully, he did not probe, and I sat with him till he finished.

'Did you touch his food?' the office boy remarked, as he sat down next to me. 'What do u think?' I asked sharply. 'She won’t, she’s one of us' the accountant said as he sat at the dining table. We all opened our lunch boxes and ate our vegetables and flat bread (roti sabzi) as usual. I tried to hide my discomfort as best I could.

Born and brought up in a city, I had never encountered such situations. Some of my best friends are vegetarians, as is my mother. But our food choice is personal and we respected each other just the same. But it was here, in Sehore District (the place of my rural fieldwork) that I encountered religion in food. My initial reaction to these bifurcations was intrigue. I also respected my colleagues' devotion to their non-violent religion that includes not harming animals for food, which kept me from eating meat at work. I usually reserved it for my lone dinner time.

It is this reason why at the end of 2 years my colleague called me 'One of them'. I was pleased at that reference. At the same time, I knew there was nothing I could do to change their attitudes. The mind grasps the most insignificant details to justify its actions. I ate my food in silence; my thoughts, my own bile.