Over Meatless Plates
An old traditional house in Mysore now converted into a cafe called ‘Malgudi’ | Photograph by Nikita Vhora
Mysore, September 2017
Matt curled his fingers to form a morsel from the curd-rice on his plate, feeding himself. He smacked his lips as he broke a fried papadum.
“Delicious…”
“Umhmm…indeed,” I retorted rather awkwardly as I ate my staple food with a spoon.
We had met each other a few hours ago in the common room of a travellers’ hostel. I was working that noon, sitting adjacent to this tall middle-aged man reading on his Kindle. We took turns at petting Sandy, the friendly hostel dog sitting between us and we introduced ourselves as ‘Nikita from Pune’ and ‘Matthew from Melbourne.’ Introductions flowed into curious conversations taking us to a bustling, humble, local restaurant for lunch, down the road.
“I cannot eat anything that can look into my eyes!” exclaimed Matt.
I had asked him about his comfort with Indian food and especially with a vegetarian meal like the one we were having.
“I used to eat meat,” he continued.
“Two years ago, I spent time on a farm in Australia. I was getting into a business relationship with the farm owner and I wanted to know everything well enough. It’s amidst the grazing cows that I sensed they understand everything. Their eyes are big pools with reflections of their minds.”
“They look at you and question. With their eyes. They look at you and smile. With their eyes. They speak!”
“I’ve not been able to have beef, mutton or pork, ever since on my plate. Hens are the dumbest! But I’m on the verge of giving up chicken too. They know they need to scuttle when I’m behind them; they surely know when a blade lifts.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“Truly.” I added quietly. “Life, Matt, is too much to ask for from any being with a central nervous system.”
Udhagamandalam, December 2019
“You mean you’ve never eaten meat? Never?”
Stella broke a piece of garlic naan and dipped it in her mix vegetable curry. I nibbled at my dosa, astonished.
“I’m a vegetarian, Nikita. Since birth.”
“But isn’t Swedish cuisine primarily non-vegetarian?”
“It is. But my family isn’t. My grandfather was a butcher. My father grew up in Austria around a slaughterhouse. There was always blood on the floor near the bathroom or elsewhere in the house. He has unpleasant childhood memories from there.”
Stella’s story had all my attention.
“By the time he met my Mum, he was a vegetarian and they both made a choice. Me and my brother were brought up as vegetarians. During those days, it was very rare in Sweden or Europe to be a vegetarian. In fact, we were two out of the three vegetarians in our entire school.”
She offered me a piece of her naan.
“That’s why I love Indian food. It’s wholesome. And a delight for vegetarians.” She grinned.
“And I’m very grateful for Mum and Dad for having made this choice. Who are we to take any lives, anyway?”
I beamed at her in admiration.
Stella at the footsteps of a Jain Temple in Udhagamandalam as we discussed ‘ahimsa’ | Photograph by Nikita Vhora
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Words: Nikita Vhora