I AM giving eggetarianism a serious shot. It’s not a health and fitness decision, but an emotional one (as my Editor pointed out); I realise that I can no longer suffer the cruel methods used to butcher animals in this country (maybe others, too).
One of the worst killing rituals I have witnessed is the excruciatingly painful and gruelingly long manner in which we butcher pigs in Goa. I was about 10 years old. Some folks cooed and whistled with rapt excitement akin to Spaniards at a bullfight. Both are equally inhumane killings, though the bullfight would figure higher up on the cruelty scale. They prepare the bull; intoxicate and agitate it sufficiently, by poking it with spears before it thunders down the rink. The matador’s job is to massacre it, and this spectacle entertains fair maidens and royalty.
I watched a documentary on a bullfight at a bullfighting rink, which is no longer functional, in Barcelona. Thank God. It made the bile rise.
Coming back to the little piggy, a slit is made in its throat, and the blood is collected, and later used to add flavour and thicken the gravy in certain dishes. For some time the poor thing scampers about, looking very alarmed. Then it bleeds and squeals itself to death, literally. The entire village knows what’s happening and so do the remaining pigs in the pen. That’s how loud the squealing gets.
Some have asked: what about plants? Yes, they suffer too. But having been born a non-vegetarian, giving up meat by itself is a tough nut to crack, but I am committed. Every now and then, I feel very tempted to bite into some salami, and then I remember the squealing piggy. So if you see me taking a bite of a chicken wing, forgive me. It’s probably during a moment of weakness, when the flesh is weak.
Baby steps.
I also come from a family, with a legacy of meat eaters. In the past, I have jokingly called myself a carnivore when people enquired if I eat meat. Turkey, sorpatel, vindaloo and tiger prawn balcao, grace the dinner table at family dos. Holidays and dinners may prove difficult if there’s only meat on the menu. How does one tackle such limitations without causing a scene, inviting difficult questions and being labeled as someone gone cuckoo? It’s something I need to figure out.
On the bright side, I am sampling a variety of vegetarian food in a city, which has some of the best food I have ever tasted in my whole life. This transition is forcing me to do it, and there were some wonderful surprises, along the way. Dal Bhatti, a crunchy Rajasthani delicacy, best consumed when warm. Paneer Tikka Masala, a spicy concoction, relished with a garlic naan. Bhatura. Paneer Chilli Fry.
A veggie friend should be thrilled about this development. Now, we can break bread together.
Update: I was a vegetarian for around two months but ultimately I resorted back to my non-veggie ways. But I don’t feel great about it. Perhaps, in another life or even in this one, in the future…
