Karma On A Platter

Karma On A Platter

The National Food Security Bill 2013 passed in the Lower House of Parliament on August 26 might not be the magic bullet to efface hunger. We also need to revive our glorious traditions of food sharing, rich in compassion and purpose.

Why do we feed the fed and starve the hungry? Why do we get so much joy when we cook and serve food to our friends, those who have abundance? Conversely, some of us may soul-search on why we neglect or turn our gaze away from those who clearly need nutrition. Perhaps this is as good a time as any to revive our tradition of food sharing.

The bhandaras held on memorable occasions, the now worldwide langar tradition as practised in gurdwaras, the huge deghchis or cooking vessels at dargahs that are never empty, the sanjhachoolhas or shared tandoors in Punjab’s rural courtyards — our culture has been defined by sharing of food. No celebration is complete without it. A meal prepared and eaten together binds both giver and receiver, creating a sense of equality. Sitting together to bake and break bread brings humility and gratitude, creating harmony and wellbeing.

Selfless Seva

I came across some living practitioners who keep alive this tradition. Badshah Singh, the one-legged carpenter lives in the shade of a gurdwara on the outskirts of the Capital, devoting his waking hours to chopping vegetables. Muniza Bibi stirs up 200 kilos of grain into a nutritious, steaming daliya in enormous deghchis at a dargah in Rajasthan. The children of a neighbourhood in Fazilka, Punjab, carry sackloads of freshly ground atta every evening to the shared tandoor in the community courtyard. Jayamma, a two-acre farm owner in Tamil Nadu, sows, nurtures and reaps fields, sharing the harvest with the landless and needy. A retired army officer in Delhi’s resettlement colony brings discipline and food security to a community kitchen. These are the repositories in whose busy hands and compassionate minds, the tradition of food sharing is still alive.

Mohammad Mehtab cruises the streets of Lutyen’s Delhi. It is yet another ‘Night Out’ for the 18-year-old cyclist. As he drives along India Gate, turning towards the circular columns of Connaught Place, his eyes scan pizza shops, ice-cream parlours, seafood restaurants, and bars with ‘Happy Hours’ lit up with neon signs. These hangouts don’t interest Mohammad. His eyes seek out the hungry who flock outside, hope writ large on their faces.

As an environmental refugee from a chronically waterlogged village in North Bihar, to Kolkata and now, New Delhi, this teen has been on the streets from the age of five to 15 years. He knows only too well how cities create famines in the midst of plenty. Mohammad understands the needs of the floating population of a few thousand hungry people here. Wasn’t he one among them till recently? Working with an NGO now, he monitors the nutrition of some of the Capital’s hungry and is their barefoot doctor as well.

A middle-aged woman moves towards the congested medieval inner city of Ajmer. It is well past sunset. Yet the ancient alleys leading to the world-famous dargah, Ajmer Sharif are alive and alert. Dense throngs of rickshaws weave through lanes clogged with people and animals. Busy stalls are distributing food and quilts. Small stretches of footpaths, parks and even narrow two-lane dividers are beds to silent rows of tired bodies.

Om Namah Shivay