More than the Bare Minimum

I am writing this after eating a delicious bowl of steaming dal khichri and air-fried chicken. I have the day off on account of a public holiday so an expanse of time lays before me unclaimed, and the afternoon laziness has come over me. After a good meal, my emotions usually reside in the vicinity of gratitude and quiet joy. I have an inherent belief that food has magic and we must treat it as such. This is why I don’t like people who discriminate on the basis of food.

A couple of days ago, I tried to record a video of myself talking into the camera (because that’s how we do social discourse now) but I didn’t find it a satisfactory way to have a conversation with the Internet-verse. I am not comfortable in front of the lens, but I do enjoy the occasional dalliance. I wanted to talk about the paint job done in my housing society recently. While it is a huge society — but not like those really tall, ugly buildings that are like upmarket chawls — the painting has been going on for a couple of weeks. Those in decision-making powers have decided that the accent colour will be used sparingly, so much so that now all the buildings look like one huge swatch of baby pink across a hazy-blue sky. The darker, coral pink is splashed on as a favour here and there, and that is that. I have been debating whether to talk to the society manager and the chairman, but I know that this is a lost cause from the get go. So, I haven’t done it yet. Seeing this and living in our city makes me convinced that Indians have been conditioned to consider the bare minimum as enough.

We have to be grateful that a paint job is done at all, we don’t get to question if it is not done beautifully. We must be content that a road exists in the first place, we should not expect it to be in perfect condition all year round. We have to be thankful that we have a job, we shouldn’t ask whether it is meaningful or not. You get the drift.

In such a life, when I encounter an exquisite experience, I find myself thanking the universe and those involved as a reflex. A wave of gratitude and awe comes over me, and these are the moments I live for. The other day, I came across a comment on Reddit by a person who said they’re tired of living in India with its bad quality of life; and someone else responded with “What have you done for the country?” This line of thinking is not only shallow and callous, but also dangerous. The idea that we must sacrifice a lot in order to be comforted a little comes from a place of scarcity, of the poverty of heart, and a lack of appreciation for human life in general. Of course, I did not respond to the comment. I’m learning to preserve my energy because I might be leaning towards a new belief system that involves the chemistry of all living. More on that later.

Last week, I had two meals that were perfect to the point of poetry. They were both celebratory meals for a recent win and they involved a mix of meat and vegetables along with a jugalbandi of flavours. I had a delicious dal fry with butter naan, and kebab so soft that it melted in my hands and in my mouth. For dessert, I devoured pista kulfi wrapped in paan (betel leaf) along with gulkand on the side. The paan was fresh, the kulfi decadent, and the coldness of it warmed my heart. It is this kind of food made with intention and served with love that makes me utter a prayer. I don’t use the word prayer casually. Food goes through our soil, passes hands, and is made with fire. This amalgamation of the earth, water, fire, and human touch creates intention which reaches us, reaches me, and I am held spellbound by a mysterious magic. I cannot deny this journey of enchantment.

Do I want to be a person who believes in magic as a form of energy? I don’t mind it, but I honestly don’t care for perception anymore. People can believe in all sorts of things, so why can’t I believe in energy manifested in a material form, or as we call them now — vibes?

This energy is not limited to food, only, but encompasses our whole lives. Isn’t that why cities feel a way, why oceans calm us, and mountains echo to us? So why can’t our every day be beautiful? This is a question I wrestle with as I navigate my apocalypse stricken city where the apocalypse is brought by the bureaucracy and those in power. That’s why it saddens me that we have been forced to settle for the bare minimum in India and not question the status quo. If we do, someone (much less an Internet troll) will come along and question our worthiness for beauty, for ease. I cannot engage with this point of view; it is dehumanising. If humans can make magic intertwined with nature, we can make waste, too. And frankly, we’re all a little tired of resisting our dehumanisation in this country. We’re tired of asking for more, but being asked to settle for a fantasy land somewhere in the future. We’re tired of asking what about now?

So I take my wins as they present themselves.

Not only did I eat delicious meals last week, I also received surprise gifts in the post. A beauty influencer sent me a box full of lipsticks and an NGO I volunteered with sent me a t-shirt and knick knacks. I love snail mail, and I am re-affirmed that people give from their heart and not their hands. It is in the heart what we love, what we have lost, and what we withhold or freely give. This is an axiom true ever since life has existed, and who am I to refute it?

One afternoon, as the sun streamed onto wooden tables, and I ate a careful dish of Barramundi and a side of lapsi in the company of my closest friend, I knew that if I could seal that moment inside a glass vial, I would have achieved my life’s goal. I could happily walk into the ocean tomorrow if it called to me.

Muslims say that the angels are always around and say ameen to the utterances we say out aloud. That’s why we are always encouraged to say the loveliest things. Of course, it seems as though we don’t live in a time of magic and surrealism anymore, but in brief snatches of time such as these, I think that somewhere an angel said ameen when I asked for happiness in a good meal, the company of an old friend, notes of love in the mail, the embrace of the sun-kissed earth, and a fresh pot of Jasmine pearl tea.

Here’s to much more than the bare minimum. Here’s to more magic in the every day.

Ameen