There was no particular dining etiquette that we had to adhere to when we were having lunch or dinner when we were kids. I was allowed to eat with my left hand (and I have always found it bizarre how when people know that I use my left hand to eat, they almost...almost squirm but really, they make no effort to hide it so it becomes easy for me to sense what they are visualizing) and we were allowed to complain about food so long as we ate it all!
However, my parents did follow a strict code on not talking too loud or laughing while eating (for the fear of choking on our own food). Well, strict is not exactly the way I would put it; it was more like that would have been desirable. But, my buwa being the buwa he is and my mum being the mum she is, my dai managed to somehow not talk so much except for occasional approval or indifference to comments being passed around (but of course there were moments when dai and I EXPLODED along with mummy and buwa!!!) and me being whoever I am, we always managed to crack jokes in between. It was never, NEVER a silent moment dining.
But still, I think lunches and dinners were pretty much moderated around being humble and calm. I took onto that I think so whenever a plate of delicacy is put in front of me, I make no small chit-chats, I gorge it up. (Seriously, I was thinking of taking this blog in a different direction but somehow it is going to the usual 'food' theme) Anyway, what my point is I respect food. I think we were privileged to have the kinds of food we had around when we lived in P. And, we were fortunate enough to not think about money every time vegetables and fruits showed up magically. I was particularly fortunate because I got to eat the best kinds of food (which somehow still did not help me with my height) but I was glad.
My mummy makes the most amazingly simple yet delicious food. She used to cook two sets of food, one with salt and one without. Every night, before she went to sleep, her mind would be riddled with what the next lunch or dinner is going to be. I think preparing food was her ritual. She never over-did food (which I usually do, with all the assortments of spices and stuffs that I like to use). She always takes out small portions from each dish she prepared as an offering to God (which I have to say made/makes no sense to me). I do not like when she waits for us to be seated with out food to start eating. I hate it when she does not sit with us in the dining table and instead chooses to sit on the ground. But, I think she would not be able to digest food if she had to sit on a chair. It is almost an organic thing with her. The most quirkiest thing she does is when there are some left-overs. She thinks that we can finish them if we ate the left-overs but then, that would defeat the purpose of having left-overs. They are left-overs because we could not finish them but she will make sure she finishes the left-overs! I love this about her.
And, I love watching my buwa eat, especially when he has cold because his nose is going all red, he manages to somehow sneeze and not mess with the food and he eats the food like the product of his labor. It is. And by this, I hope you understand it is my mum and buwa's labor of love when I eat my share of the food. My buwa loves ghiraula, lauka and the family which did not get transferred to my genes. I hate them. He loves what my mum cooks (hehe that is obvious) but my buwa is not one of those people who cannot cook for himself. He has most of his life been out of home; so he takes care of his food on his own. When buwa and me were put in-charge of food, I had the most fun watching him. I rolled roti and he put it on tawa and counted 15 each time to turn the roti over. Pressure cooker had to steam out 3-4 times under count. I was amazed at this technique of cooking. I love the way he boasts about how he can cook food. And I love when I see my mum smile when buwa is boasting ad dancing around in the kitchen.
I think my brother is one of those people who would eat food but not think about it; his mind would be wavering around continuum perhaps of some sort (I over-use the phrase 'of some sort'). During his college years, I saw him with his notes and books during dinner time. I do not know what the fascination was but I loved observing my brother and whatever it was that was going on in his head. He ate but never complained. I always thought it was too oily, too spicy, too salty, too bland, too hospital-like...what not but he ate them all and never complained. Maybe it has got to do something with the fact that he spent most of his school life in a hostel and I never went to one. Maybe. Maybe not. My brother smelled books. Food, I don't know.
Bottom line, I hope someone was or is observing my quirky food/eating habits like I do because frankly I do not find it creepy. There are far worse things that are borderline creepy or beyond (like people try to take your picture while your mouth is wide open and you are about to put that spoonful of food inside...now THAT is creepy).
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