Of all descriptions, I never described myself a foodie. In my head, a foodie was one who worked around the intricacies of food, one who explored tastes and named a spice when it crackled on the taste buds. To me, food was something I denied myself, often deliberately because the calories counted to be more than my desperation to devour it. Food was something I developed a weird relationship with, one where I often ebbed the desire for. I soon realized I was constantly giving up something or the other. One time sugar, at other times red meat, sometimes dairy and sometimes flour. Thinking of it now, many a times, even food. I have friends who confidently believe I substitute air for food and convert it into energy to keep me going.Food to me, had become every extra bit of me I saw in the mirror. I preferred keeping away from detailed indulgences lest I fall in love.I could thus, never be the foodie.
I had a particularly rough day today. Today, I put my body through a grueling session as I interrogated with my purpose of existence. Such soul searching is often disastrously draining on the body. I was , as was meant to be, in a myriad of emotions. Depressed, angry, anticipated and constipated of purpose. Perhaps when you’ve stirred yourself more than in required levels, you release desires that were punished to stay out of bounds. I had for some reason, an unexplained craving for chaat. It is a very Indian thing to crave chaat. To me, it was not a usual that I craved. I had made it a habit that I gave my body just enough and shut its cravings in the deep dungeons of my head. However, today I ATE. Not just to superficially claim I had dinner, but till the chaat exploded within me,till every spice woke my weary soul up, till I differentiated each flavor, till I was genuinely full.Most of all, till I discovered that my happiness quotient rested beautifully nestled in the plate before me.
As I go to bed tonight, I realize, after all, maybe I am a foodie. If food is the hug you melt into, letting go of all apprehensions, perhaps then, even if you can’t name one spice after the other, you, my friend are the Foodie!
some stories are big.some,heavily small. 