Rev Mohit Hitter, presbyter-in-charge of the Cathedral Church of the Redemption, in Delhi, is amused when he thinks back to the time when drinking at a restaurant or bar was not the norm. “People would ask for Christmas cake because it had rum, not realising that the amount we put in is very little,” he says. He draws upon the fact that people from different cultures often come together out of curiosity and a willingness to taste each other’s food.
Different strokes for different forks
It is also true that people go out of their way to make guests feel at home with the food they offer. At a Christian or Muslim wedding feast in Tamil Nadu, where the celebratory food is mutton biryani and chicken 65 with the only ‘vegetable’ being pachadi and enna kathrika, there is always vegetarian food served separately, ordered from a different supplier who specialises in just that.
“We are usually mixed groups at a large function in India, and when the ecosystem is mixed, we are used to catering to different beliefs,” says Gurugram-based Ekta Rohra Jafri, who is herself a Hindu married to a Muslim. She gives the example of her sister-in-law who lays out an Eid spread with kebabs and kormas, and also with dahi bhalla and papri-chaat so everyone can come to the table.
It is the reason there is vegetable haleem at Hyderabad-based photographer and writer Nishat Fatima’s house for Eid. Or that Ekta’s in-laws who may eat a tehri (vegetable rice dish) on its own understand her parents would like it with a gravy side. Or that Rev Hitter’s family always makes an eggless, alcohol-free fruit cake for family that does not eat either.
While the Jewish community in India has strict rules around kosher — milk, animals with cloven hooves and scales are not allowed, and ideally anything else needs to be slaughtered by a priest — Rabbi Ezekiel Isaac Malekar is mostly vegetarian especially when he goes out. “We like to take part in Diwali, for example, so it’s the easy option,” he says. As the person in-charge of the Interfaith Study Centre at the Judah Hyam Synagogue in Delhi he says, “What is common to all nine major religions is that they all believe the food they prescribe is for the good of the body, mind, and soul.”
At the same table
Every Friday evening at Delhi’s Press Club of India, scores of journalists gather to drink and eat at throwaway prices, the shared space a symbol of an urban tribe bound together by work. At many tables, people may place their orders and pay separately, but will huddle together for winter warmth, gossip, and a few laughs.
This “brotherhood around breaking bread” has a great deal to do with a tribal instinct, says Dr Ennapadam S Krishnamoorthy, drawing from his work as a neuro-psychiatrist in Chennai. “In rural India, for instance, the whole village is invited to a ceremony, with food as the centrepiece. Even in an urban Indian setting, a celebration will be dominated by the community of the host and their particular food,” he says. This does not make it discriminatory; it just means “we don’t let go of our core”. He adds that in city life our tribes are our social circles that may be interfaith, international, intercultural.
Why does food draw us together more than separate? “Because food satiates.” He says our most primal memory is that of smell, so just the aroma of certain spices can conjure up a feeling of anticipation. “The emotion you get at the end of a good meal is a certain sense of satisfaction, and your brain is wired to feel this.”
He speaks of what is now urban legend — of actor-politician MGR insisting that anyone who was at home when lunch was served, had to eat. “So at one time he would have 50 or 100 people eating in his house. Finding people’s affections through the stomach is universal to humankind.”
The stork-fox conundrum
Segregation is a bad word in the rest of the world; in India, food segregation has been normalised, with the ‘non-veg’ sometimes placed on a separate table, though this practice is being seen less, says Dr Krishnamoorthy, who belongs to the Kerala Iyer community. He feels travel and a wide range of experiences have helped people with a strict vegetarian upbringing be open to meat-like textures and gravies.
However, many may feel repulsed by animal slaughter, find the smells too pungent, or even see the use of the same utensils or kitchen to cook meat and vegetables not in tandem with their beliefs.
“We laugh about it, but cater to it,” says Ekta, adding that her marital family does not take offence to ordering in from outside for those who are particular. “Otherwise, we know people will not come. It’s a sign of being respectful and inviting them into our celebration.”
Delhi historian Sohail Hashmi talks of how he sends sevaiya every year to his neighbours on Eid, but other than a couple of people most do not respond or reciprocate. He feels that as a society, “Even when we invite people home, we invite a certain kind, once we suss out who we’d like at our table.” There may be religion, caste, or class barriers.
Then there are those who may visit during a festival, but may not want to touch food or water at the hosts’. “We can’t force food down people, and we don’t need to have them eat to make ourselves feel happy,” says Nishat. “It’s nice enough that they have come home to wish us.” This force-feeding is something she has experienced, though not with food — there’s little difficulty explaining the food-faith connect and why she doesn’t eat pork — but with alcohol.
BR Srihari who works with an investment banking firm in Chennai, is one of the few who doesn’t eat anything outside of home. In fact, his community that practises Vaishnavism, some of whom still follow very strict norms, cook their food on a kummiti adupu (coal-fired iron stove) with guidelines on what to eat on what day. “We don’t eat anything cooked outside and don’t take food cooked at home out,” he says. Many vegetables, like beans and carrot are to be avoided because they are considered something that has come across the seas, since foreigners brought them here, and can be done without. When he meets his friends, “they eat whatever they want. We talk and laugh together, but they know I won’t be eating or even drinking water,” he says.
Food for the heart
The recent naughty and nice Zomato ad made most of us smile. It featured a young woman and man from different faiths ordering from the app and offering food to each other across the landing of an apartment block, while pretending their mothers have cooked it. The theme that runs through is of urbanisation, and serves to remind us that food sometimes bridges the long corridors of loneliness. In the end, it’s not what is in the bowl that matters as much as the reason why we invite people to partake.