From Farm to Table
By Esha Mahajan
I spent New Year’s Eve alone at a yoga retreat an hour away from Bangalore airport in December 2012. I’m not quite sure why. I wasn’t even that regular with my yoga practice then, and I had other options. My friends had a party, my sister went to Goa, some travelled to Dubai. The night before I left, I panicked as I packed a few track pants in a small stroller bag. What was I getting myself into?
I took an early morning flight, and reached the retreat, a 25-acre space for just 25 guests, during lunch time. They took me straight to the dining room and sent my bag to the small cottage room where I would spend the next three days. I sat at the dining table opposite a balding American man talking about his experience with a headstand in the morning class. I didn’t have a menu to choose from or a television playing sitcoms in front of me. Just strangers from different countries talking over a shared meal. Everybody ate together at the retreat.
Back home, my mom gets a call at around 6 p.m every day from our cook asking her what to make for dinner. I’m the only vegetarian in the family, so I decide what I want to eat every day. I could really order a pizza, but maybe I should eat something healthier instead? Maybe Indian, or Thai, or Mexican? Maybe eat out with a friend? At the retreat, where they served the same four-course vegetarian meal to every person, I didn’t have a choice. It was surprisingly liberating.
I also eat dinner at around 8.30 p.m., which is early in my family. I seem to start starving before anybody else, except for Kenzo, my seven-year-old golden retriever, who eats even before I do. I sit on the couch in my parent’s room, rest my plate on my lap, and watch a movie or reruns of The Big Bang Theory or Two and a Half Men. My family is always around, though, and I’m never alone in the room. My mom usually sits on her side of the bed, my older sister plays Razzle or some other game on her iPad mini, and my dad and brother come and go in between rounds of pool or billiards. We’re always talking to each other, sometimes even from one room to another, and it’s fun to have everybody around. My lazy dog also makes occasional appearances when he can lift himself off his bed in the ground floor living room. When everybody else finally sits down for dinner, I join them for green tea. It’s chaotic and close-knit, so the idea of sitting at a dinner table with people I don’t know and trying to create conversation with them was brand new.
The first day was strange. I was tired after my early morning flight and the subsequent car journey, and was worried about the food. Turns out, I didn’t have to be. Half of the property is an organic farm, and ingredients for most of the dishes they prepare come from there. Everything was fresh and tasty, even vegetables like bottle gourd, which I would never eat back home. I walked around the farm one day, and tasted fennel seeds and mint leaves straight off the plants. I ate dessert without feeling bad about it.
I learnt to enjoy the surprise of a different menu every meal, and looked forward to eating dinner with the other people on the retreat. I was forced to talk to them and I discovered they were quite interesting. They served meals earlier than even I ate at home: breakfast at 8 a.m., lunch at noon, and dinner around 7 p.m. During the day I sipped fresh ginger tea while reading on the patio, snacked on fruits and nuts, and attended meditation or spa sessions. I slept like a baby at night, and woke up even before my alarm for my 6 a.m outdoor yoga class.
I bought their cookbook the day I left, determined to make the beetroot soup or lentil kebabs. I promised myself I would eat mindfully no matter where I was. When I reached home that night, however, I ate dinner in front of the television. The cookbook is still in a drawer in my room, and I never did try any of the recipes. I was back to reality, and tempted by it.
Your Comments