Meditating over food

Perhaps it was a bad idea to skip breakfast and then walk the distance to the venue of a food meditation programme. So when everyone else sat quietly ruminating over the spread at the dining table of the darkened meeting hall in Delhi, my stomach growled loudly enough to disturb every meditator.
 
But once the first morsel of black Manipuri rice dipped in rajma reached my innards, the mind and intestine settled into a quieter mood. It is really quite amazing how many flavours you discover in food when you pay it some quiet attention. I am suddenly, acutely aware of the one chilli in the sarson ka saag, the creamy texture of the rajma gravy, the crunch of the ragi roti and the crushed cumin grains in the raita.

There was a time when a meal in India was almost a ritualistic occasion. Today, it is a parantha bite grabbed at the traffic signal, a cellophaned sandwich lunch with the eye on the clock and of course the huge dinner in front of TV. That is what prodded food activist Anaam to start a campaign to push for mindful eating. He wants participants to experience how different food tastes when it is eaten in silence and a sense of respect.

“Our traditions dictate that we treat food with reverence and gratitude. The French dining tradition on the other hand demands conversation. It is interesting to find out what the two cultures are looking for,” says entrepreneur Pammi Singh who hosted the experiment at The Attic, a restaurant in Delhi, which provides a platform for alternate events.

The sessions feature only whole grains and organic food. It is not that mindful eating cannot come with refined flour but Anaam believes that only whole foods can offer a life changing experience.

This afternoon at The Attic, the point of meditation is the special black rice used on rare and festive occasions in Manipur. By the time it cooks in its starch this indigenous and rare variety of rice is a rich and gooey purple. If you haven’t yet experimented with the brown or red variety, the texture of this rice might come as a shock. It takes a while longer to chew and swallow than the smooth refined rice our palates are used to.

What that does, of course, is force you to dwell on the food in your mouth. The thick rajma broth spices it up and the saag comes with its own bitter-bland flavour. One long thin green chilly has gone into my saag and I feel the tears welling up in my eyes. In the quiet, with the candlelight flickering the last thing I can do is to let out a yowl. So I wallow in the experience, painful as it, is for a while. After all, those who are waiting on us are making sure that even the ladles do not clang against the containers and disturb
our rice reverie.

Meditative eating has changed the life of at least one at the table that has 18 participants. Tanveer is a postgraduate student and this is her second shot at food meditation. She says the experience has weaned her off junk food. “I now find that I really don’t like the taste of junk. It is not even as if I am sorry to say no to it. My palate itself has changed. I can have a samosa once in a while but I have no desire to gorge on more.”