pass the plate

One way to mark our time in India is through meals.

There were slow mornings that ended with stomachs full of milky, sugary coffee and buttered toast. There were lunches where our sweaty bodies filed off buses and into local restaurants. There were dinners around long tables, or seated on floors, with no time frame and deep, good conversation. There were hours of chai time and snacks.

One of the first things we learned was to eat with our hands. Abbi, one of our tour guides, described it this way: Indians like to experience life with all of their senses.

To see. To smell. To hear. To taste. To touch.

When you eat with your hands you engage a little deeper than you do with a sterile fork and spoon. You get to play as you use your fingers to mix together rice, sauce, and protein. You feel the heat. Turns out our hand makes an excellent spoon if contorted correctly. Think of your four fingers – on your right hand, of course – as a shovel, and your thumb as a broom. Your fingers touch your lips as your tools deliver each bite. Add to that the experience of hot, buttered naan. The swirling and folding of the warm bread through the sauces becomes a sort of dance.

Most of our meals were delivered family style. Little bowls of sauces peppered the table between large bowls of rice and heaping plates of naan. Eating family style is a game of compromise and communion. You must take into account those who don’t eat meat or certain grains when ordering. You must think through which dish might be a favorite and make sure to order enough. You must share. Sometimes someone will take the last bite that you really, really wanted.

But the understanding and grace is this: there will be another meal with these friends as you continue the journey. Next time, orders can be switched up and someone else can be served first.

There was a point in the trip where the western, individualist in me got tired of the communal nature of our meals. I just wanted to order the dish I wanted and not have to share with anyone. Maybe that’s the only child in me as well. I also really wanted to use a fork. Eventually there were times when we did just order for ourselves. But, as the trip went on I found myself seeking out others to split dishes with me again. And my fingers found themselves covered in sauce.

There is something about the discussion and the sharing that solidifies the meal.

We move beyond utilitarian nourishment when we eat this way. We touch the life on our plates and the life sitting next to us with a little more thought and care.