How to Be a Sick Foodie

Yumminess, Illness, Mindful Eating, and Marigold butts

Art by Sonal Sher

Nalli Nihari at Bhopal’s notorious Chatori Gali. Chicken Kuzambhu at Chennai’s Courtrallam Border Rahmath Kadai. Galouti Kabab in Lucknow, Crab Kaalvan in Kolhapur, Maggi Anda Ghotala in Ahmedabad. I’ve had it all. I was into culinary adventures of all kinds until I lost my coveted 'foodie' title to my sickness.

Foodies have a curious tongue and a forgiving gut. They travel along maps of local delicacies, hardly discriminating between a nameless stall and an expensive café. Our history is incomplete without their travels across the world for spices, and our present is documented through their luscious food photographs on social media.

I turned into a foodie when I had to travel a lot, for work, work that I did not like too much. As soon as the next travel assignment would appear on my calendar, I would eagerly chart my food itinerary. Every meal was a chance to feel a bit fuller. Instead of ‘Not All Who Wander are Lost’, the T-shirt that would have truly enlightened me at that time would have said ‘Not All Hunger is about Food’. I had mistranslated my hunger for creativity, touch, kissing, music, nourishment and safety into the familiar hunger for piping hot, spicy food.

I couldn’t continue this reckless love affair for too long. With my weak gut, restricted mobility and dietary protocols, I was not equipped to handle the thrill of it. If Roadies was Foodies, Raghu would have yelled at me, “Tu Foodie Banega!!?? Foodie Banega Tu??”

And yet I am not done with food. I have become more desperate. I wait for the next homemade meal with bated breath. Maybe the ‘ie’ in foodie still has some space to hold what I currently feel about food?

Food has been an escape, an illusionary filling-up of the inner void. I have used food to rebel against society, feel less lonely, (re)press the anger in. Until sickness came and took away my favourite coping mechanism.

Without the bliss-point of junk food and numbing over-stimulation of the hot, the salty and the gooey, I could hardly escape. I was a tangle of anger, sadness, guilt, and powerlessness. I was forced to put my intestines over Instagram, my soft sick body over my insatiable mind.

My mind really helped me though. It lit up when I read these words by Jan Chozen Bays in her book Mindful Eating,

“...if you want to have a party in the mouth, the mind has to be invited.”

At the very next meal, instead of the latest episode of ‘This Is Us’, my mind paid attention to the warm flavours of Methi Matar bursting in my mouth at every bite. It started to recognize the changing textures of Ghee each season. It was amused at how a bitter beetroot sweetens the whole meal if chomped on first. My mind fell in love with food that will nourish my body. It employed all its sensory officers in Project Satisfaction.

Natalia Stahl via GIPHY

Today I can be found staring at succulent ink-filled Jamuns, closing my eyes as mushy, golden papaya melts in my mouth, saying thanks to my teeth for biting into a crunchy Pumpkin Thalipeeth. Filled with gratitude for the bounty of raw and ripe delights found in my own geography, I find solace in crazy acts. Licking a Cinnamon stick. Hunkering down to compare the smell of Everest Dry Mango Powder with that of the Aambatpan mango powder my cousin made at home. Pressing into Chikoo's skin to check if it has ripened for the day.

Perhaps I have not lost the ‘foodie’ title, but have gently broadened it. I have been a foodie since I first discovered that Marigold butts were edible. I was a foodie when I savoured fried fish on Elizabeth beach in Chennai and also when I made Cranberry Thokku off a friend’s google-doc recipe, something to go with my bland Khichdi.

I was a foodie when I escaped from my body and I will be a foodie when I reconnect with it. One mindful meal at a time.

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1. This essay would not have been possible without the support of my friend Sonal Sher. Sonal is a versatile writer and a nimble genius in the kitchen. When I saw her pour and spread water on a banana leaf while we waited for fish and rice, it was friendship at first dinner. <3

2. Earlier this month, Poetly celebrated its one-year anniversary. I got to read a few poems in the company of beautiful poets and people. Here’s a recording:

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