Keeping up in Kashmir: Redefining Table Manners

I was 15 and travelling with my father for the first time in his native country, Pakistan, when I discovered food as a key to culture. In any country where the culture is distinct from your own it is easy to feel that all eyes are on you, yet I'm certain it was not the egotism of my age that made me feel the centre of attention. Being paraded before an endless number of family members I could see confusion in their eyes as they looked from my father down to his frizzy-haired daughter, who had inherited much of her mother's Caribbean looks.
The interest in me only intensified during dinner. Sitting on the patio floor-come-roof that separated my grandmother's house from my cousin's below, I remember trying to mirror the model table manners; the chapatti was gripped in the right hand, torn and dipped into the curry, and returned prising the chicken, in one swift graceful motion. In the Islamic culture the right hand is believed to confer blessings, restricted to performing only clean tasks; thus I was aware of the implications in flouting this eating ritual. However as a left-hander I faced an obvious difficulty. What ensued was a pathetic battle with an already defeated chicken as I tried to employ a dexterity alien to my right hand, whilst my other lay petulantly under my thigh. I gave up. Shredding the chapatti into pieces, I felt my frustration dissipate as each flake fell upon the curry. My fingers dug in helping the chapatti to saturate the sauce, just as my aunty had once done to feed me as a child. I looked at my desecrated meal with satisfaction, forgetting for a moment my audience. As I peered up from my bowl I was sure to be scolded for “playing with my food”, but I was in my father’s village in Kashmir and the faces I encountered were fixed with a mixture of amusement and surprise. An animated exchange erupted: everyone seemed to be laughing at me. Confused, I asked my father what was being said, he chuckled saying “Now they all know you’re Pakistani”.