Italian Indian, Bhai Bhai

 The similarities between the two countries are hard to miss

It was while standing in line to board an aircraft at an Italian airport that the thought first occurred to me. As the crowd built up behind me I could hear many raised voices having animated conversations on their cellphones without a care as to who was listening in. And in about 15 minutes what had been an orderly queue when we started out had turned into an amorphous mass of people. 

Honestly, I thought to myself, I could be back in India! There was the same lack of awareness that we were in a public space and that it wouldn’t do to disturb the peace of other people. And there was the same cheerful flouting of boring old rules like standing in a line while waiting. 

The more I thought I about it the more I became convinced that Indians and Italians are really the same people. And not just in terms of their common disregard for any kind of civic discipline (anyone who has driven in Delhi will feel right at home on the streets of Rome!) but in more positive ways as well. 

Take our attitudes to family. Both in Italy and India, the family is regarded as near sacred. There is respect for elders (and not just those who belong to your family), there is affection for young adults, and adoration of all children. You only have to dine in small Italian restaurants to see that multigenerational families are as common here as they are in India. And just like Indians, no Italian can resist the charms of a chubby baby. There will be much cooing and cuddling and cosseting — and that is just the wait staff. Nobody will give you dirty looks if your baby cries either; instead they will lining up to help quieten him or her down. 

The Italian attitude to food is much the same as the Indian one. There is the same love of carbs (pizza and paratha), the same affinity for deep-frying (arancini and pakoras), the same dependence on milk products (cheese and dahi), the same taste for intense sweetness when it comes to dessert (affogato and kheer). Indians have yet to develop the same devotion for a nice glass of Prosecco but I think we will get there eventually. 

When it comes to hospitality, there are the same parallels. The welcome you get in an Italian home is very similar to the one you can expect in an Indian one. The table will be laden with more dishes than you could possibly do justice do; the hosts will entreat you to have second or even third helpings; and the drinks will keep coming even when you are ready to give up. 

But the greatest similarity between Indians and Italians is this: never do they feel more Indian and Italian than when they are out of their respective countries. While in Italy, they may define themselves as being from Napoli or Venezia, they may differentiate between the north and the south. But the moment they leave their country, they became ‘Italians’. The same is true of Indians. All those differences between Gujaratis and Punjabis and north and south India collapse the moment we leave our borders. Then we are all Indians together. 

So, if you needed another reason to visit Italy, here it is: we really are the same people!

Dishing it out

How our relationship with food has changed over the last decade or so

Remember a time when food was just food? When it was something that you ate without thinking too much about it. When the highlight of your weekend was your mom's rajma-chawal (or fish fry or chicken biryani or whatever your comfort food was, growing up). When going out for a meal was something you did only on special occasions, like a birthday or an anniversary. When the only item of food that ever got photographed was your birthday cake -- and that, only because you were in the process of cutting it.

Well, if you are above the age of 30, you probably do. That was probably the last generation to come of age in an environment where food was just food. There was no obsessing about the calorific count of various dishes. There was no concern about the harm that sugar/carbohydrates/fat were doing to your health. Food wasn't something that you obsessed about; it wasn't something to fetishize on TV shows. Cooking was seen as mere drudgery; there was nothing glamorous about whipping up a three-course meal for your friends. And if you eschewed entire food groups on the grounds that they weren't good for you, your mom was more likely to give you an enema than cook a special meal for you.

But, as you may have noticed, things have changed since those innocent days when we mainlined maida (and snorted up industrial quantities of sugar) through the day without giving it another thought. Now, we are all mindful of what we eat. Wholewheat bread rather than white. Free-range eggs, not those produced by battery chickens. Olive oil rather than butter and cream. Lots of vegetables. White meat not red. Steaming rather than frying. And so on and on and on.

We all have a 'food theory' or a fad diet that we subscribe to. Some of us believe in 'clean eating', which translates into lots of fruit and vegetables with minimal cooking involved. Some follow the Paleo diet, eating food that only the Paleolithic man ate. Some still swear by the tried-and-debunked Atkins diet (lots of red meat, cream, cheese, butter, with a side order of cardiac arrest). Some don't let a morsel pass their lips after 7.30 pm in the belief that this will make them thin.

And then, there are those fancy themselves as 'foodies', with an abiding interest in different cuisines and the desire to gorge on them all. They are the ones trying to recreate that dish they saw on Masterchef in their kitchens. They are the ones most likely to whip up a 'mean Thai red curry' or bake a 'flakier than flaky croissant'. They are the ones who plan their holidays around the restaurants they want to eat in. Call them gourmands or gourmets, it matters little. It is food that drives them all.

Food allergies have had their day. Now we justify our exclusionist diets by evoking those two words that strike terror in every hostess' heart: food intolerance. So you have your regular lactose-intolerant folk, who won't have anything made from milk (except dahi, it has something to do with lactic acid apparently; but don't ask me more because the explanation was so boring that I fell asleep halfway through.) And then there are the newly-minted gluten intolerant folk (no, they haven't had tests, silly; they just understand their own bodies so well.) But the truly annoying ones are those who claim to be 'vegan' because it sounds so much more exotic, when they are, in fact, just plain 'vegetarian'.

How we eat has become a status symbol. If you eat parathas and dahi for breakfast you are a bit desi. The truly sophisticated would have rye bread and free range egg white omelette. Rotis or dal chawal for dinner? How very infra dig! You should really be having some grilled fish or chicken with a green salad on the side.

As for how we cook -- well, we cook mostly to show off. The potluck dinner is a thing of the past. Now, the way to impress your friends -- or even your boss -- is to create a restaurant-quality meal in your own kitchen (the more 'exotic' the cuisine, the more the bonus marks). If it's Italian, then an easy-peasy pasta or risotto won't do; you need to put at least an ossobuco on the table. If it's Thai, then a simple curry doesn't cut it; an omelette stuffed with crab would be a better indicator of your skill. If it's 'Continental', then you need to pull out all the stops: savory soufflé, lamb done pink and a chocolate fondant to end. And if it's Indian...well, really, why even bother?

And remember how the food looks is as important as how it tastes. Because, you know, Instagram. And Facebook. And Twitter. That's where all those dishes are destined to live on forever, scooping up likes and compliments, long after the meal is long over.

Because food is no longer simply food, to be wolfed down as soon as it makes an appearance on the table and forgotten soon after. Now, every meal is something to be mulled over, every dish a photo-opportunity, and every ingredient a statement.

So, bon appetit to all you 'foodies'. As for me, since you ask, I'm sticking to my rajma-chawal!

Lovin' is easy...

Love may be a universal emotion; but all of us express it differently

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” That’s how Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s famous sonnet begins. It goes on: “I love thee to the depth and breadth and height / My soul can reach…I love thee freely, as men strive for right. / I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.”

It’s a beautiful poem (you really should read it in its entirety if you haven’t already) that sends a shiver up my spine every time I revisit it. Not least because love is such a universal emotion that it unites us all. And yet, all of us express it in so many different ways. We may not be able to articulate our feelings with the felicity that Barrett Browning manages so effortlessly. But in our own bumbling, mumbling way, we express the love we feel for family and friends every day of our lives.

We all know of mothers – and increasingly, fathers – who express their love through food. They find the greatest pleasure in feeding their children. They coax them to eat when they are infants, each mouthful an accomplishment, every clean plate a personal triumph. They harangue them to finish their greens and go easy on junk food as they grow into stroppy teenagers. They stock up on their favourite foods when they come back from college. And even after they have grown up and have kids of their own, the fattening of the prodigal daughter or son never ceases. And thus, the cycle goes.

At the other end of the parental spectrum are the proponents of what they like to call ‘tough love’. Their love is expressed through the exercise of discipline: get up on time, get your homework done, get better grades, get a good job, get it together. Those at the receiving end may find these constant exhortations annoying – and who can blame them for that? – but there is no denying that they come from a place of love. These are the actions of people who want good things for you; even if their way of ensuring that is less than endearing.

When it comes to romantic love, the world is divided into two categories. In the first are those who go in for the big romantic gesture. They shower their loved ones with flowers, extravagant presents, exotic holidays, and the like. These are the people who spend weeks thinking up the best way to propose marriage, splash enormous amounts on money on getting the perfect ring, and then take months to plan their over-the-top weddings.

Yes, George Clooney, I am looking at you. The erstwhile ‘committed bachelor’ who organized a ‘dream wedding’ for his lady love, human rights barrister Amal Alamuddin, in the impossibly romantic location of Venice, because they had first met in Italy. The four-day wedding extravaganza, with A-listers flying in from all over the world, cost between 10 to 15 million dollars (depending on who’s counting). And that’s not accounting for the 750,000 dollars that George paid for Amal’s engagement ring, a seven carat emerald cut diamond, or the cost of the many couture outfits the bride and groom wore every day.

So, that’s George Clooney for you. On the other hand, there are those who just pitch up at the wedding registrar’s office, say their vows, exchange their rings, and save their money for the honeymoon of their dreams, or even more practically, a deposit on a house. That’s not to say that these couples are any less in love than George and the luminous Amal. It’s just that their love is expressed in a different way: in spending quality time with one another, buying a house in which they can build their life together, creating a home they can grow old in. For them, the romance lies not in the wedding but in the marriage.

These are the people who specialize in showing their love for others in practical, everyday ways. We all have friends like these (at least, I hope you do!). They are the ones who show up unannounced to accompany you for that MRI you have been so dreading. They remember which colours/designers/authors/singers you like when it comes to buying your birthday presents. They send you fruit rather than flowers when you are recovering from an illness. They will talk to you for hours on end if they feel you are feeling low. They will take you out for lunch, dinner, a movie, or even a walk, if they sense you need cheering up. In fact, their mere presence in your life is chicken soup for your soul (and they will send some over for good measure when you have a cold).

Speaking for myself, I must confess I am not the one for extravagant gestures. For me, the best measure of love is to share the things I love with the people I love. It could be a book that I treasure, a family recipe, a movie that moved me, or a comedy show that reduced me to tears. And it is those kind of gestures that smack of true love as far as I am concerned. (Though that’s not to say I would turn up nose up at an emerald-cut diamond!)

But no matter how it is expressed, we should all be grateful for the love we have in our lives. So, as the festive season begins, let’s all hear it for love. Express it every day in ways both big and small. Keep yourself open to it in whatever form and shape it may come. And sing along with Bill Nighy, “So if you really love me, Come on and let it show…”