THE PEACE WE FIND AMIDST FOOD WARS

OUR 78th Independence Day just went by.

Each of us had our own thoughts about the state of India, what's good and what needs fixing. I found myself thinking of the hidden drama in our lives and how I was given peace amid food wars that occasionally flare up.

As a Hindu today, I don't care who eats what. My parents brought me up on the principle of 'loko bhinna ruchi', the Sanskrit equivalent of the Latin maxim 'de gustibus non est disputandum' (there is no disputing over taste). Whereas if we as children said 'Chhee! Thoo!' to any food, we heard a steady stream of mildly delivered but wearying reproofs on how disappointing it was to find such judgemental people in one's own family at such a young age.

Of course, there was a denouement. One fateful summer day in the Bombay of our childhood, a bottle of sarsaparilla pickle from deepest South India made its way to the table. The moment it was opened, my father said, "Take it away! It smells like cockroaches!" My mother was not amused.

Needless to say, we watched this development with great interest. A precedent had been set. Although we were foolish children in many ways, we could tell a 'Thoo!" and certainly a 'Chhee!" when we heard one.