Contraband omelette in a lunchbox

Munching on mutton cutlets in the movie hall, one would be too engrossed in the film to think about possibly offending any co-movie watchers who might be conservative vegetarians. However, carrying a similar meal to school was a completely different matter…

 

Having been born into a Bawa (Parsi, for the uninitiated) household, a non-vegetarian diet has always been as natural for me as raindrops and sunlight. However, owing to the fact that I’ve lived around people who were rather strict vegetarians, a bit of tact was always called for in order to not offend their feelings. At a very young age, I was adequately aware of the fact that meat and eggs were anathema for most of our neighbours. Though my family never made a secret of our eating habits, we did make it a point to avoid mentioning non vegetarian food before acquaintances who were vegetarian.

I must have been about four or five when I would often go over to a neighbour’s place to play with their son, who was a little younger than me. My father would frequent a meat shop early in the morning and was thus often seen heading out of our colony, a cloth bag in hand, towards what can be politely described as a downmarket locality. One day, my little friend’s mother casually asked me, “What does your dad often go in that direction for?” Now this was a sticky question for me. I felt that our neighbours knew we were meat eaters but nevertheless the truthful answer just might offend my friend’s mother. And who knows, I might be banned from coming over to their place to play…! So, I ended up blurting out, “To buy vegetables.” If I remember right, I did see a hint of a smile on her face upon hearing my innocent lie!

But despite the best of intentions, a boo-boo inevitably did happen occasionally. Once on a school picnic, I carried cheese and jam sandwiches and a special treat to go with them. “Kumas”, a Parsi version of cake was a novelty for me as it was the first time it had been prepared at home in my lifetime (by grandma). Needless to say, I was all excited to share it with my friends. Share it I did and they all loved it, including one who was a staunch vegetarian. He even asked for and got a second helping! Upon returning home, I told my family what a big hit Grandma’s Kumas had been with everyone. Especially the one who had had a second helping. Mom and Grandma looked a bit troubled. “You gave him the Kumas too? Did you tell him it contained eggs?”

I was stunned. My innocent mind had never imagined that our very special cake would be having eggs in it! “No, how could I tell him? I didn’t know…!” I blurted out. “Never mind. No need to mention it to him now. Forget it”, I was told. Of course, that was easier said than done. For days I was ridden with guilt at having fed egg to my vegetarian friend.

Throughout the seventies and early eighties, going for a 6 to 9 pm movie show entailed carrying what we called a “dry dinner”. This almost always meant mutton cutlets wrapped in chapatis. The ritual was, that when the lights dimmed after the intermission, Mom would slide out our dinner box from her basket and hand out “Cutles-rotli” (as we called it) to Dad, Bro and me. I’d be too engrossed in the film (and the meal itself, a favourite of mine) to think about possibly offending any of my co-movie watchers who might be conservative vegetarians. However, carrying a similar meal to school was a completely different matter.

When I was in middle school, my home was a mere five-minute walk from school. The school administration gave special permission for students who lived close by to leave the premises during lunch break, have their meal at home and return before the break ended. So, I was among those privileged to have a hot meal at home. But this also made me feel a bit left out. My buddies would bring their tiffins to school and sit down to eat together, chatting away about this and that. I yearned to be part of that experience and said as much to my mother. So, it was arranged that one day, I would be carrying my lunch to school and be part of my friends’ tiffin group. It was an exciting prospect, until the day arrived and I found two halves of an omelette being tucked inside two chapatis for my tiffin! For typical, traditional Parsi mothers, ideas for a dry, “tiffin” meal usually run out after “Cutles-rotli” and “Poro-rotli” (Omelette-chapati) or “Poro-pau” (Omelette-bread). I felt trapped! I possibly couldn’t back out from the tiffin idea now after having harped on it for long. But then, how could I carry an egg meal when at least a couple of guys in my group were conservative vegetarians?! But carry it I did, with the guilt-ridden mind of someone carrying some sort of contraband stuff in his bag. Hoping that the vegetarian guys would suddenly absent themselves from school that day and spare me the possibly excommunication inducing act of sitting down with them for a “non-veg” meal…

No such luck! Now what do I do? Do I tell them I’ll be lunching with them or do I keep mum and slink off to some remote corner during lunch break to gobble down my tiffin lunch? The second option was too risky. There was every chance of being spotted eating alone in school when almost everyone who knew me knew that I went home for lunch. And being thus spotted would entail having to answer a lot of questions. Plus, there was the unpleasant prospect of having to lie to my family that I had indeed eaten with my friends as intended. I decided to surrender myself to my fate and told my friends I would be eating with them.

In the end, it turned to be much ado about nothing. Of course, I was asked the inevitable “What have you brought in your lunchbox” question but my answer was received rather matter-of-factly and that was that! It was all so unremarkable that I don’t even remember the details of the actual group lunch as much as I remember the storm of apprehensions that had engulfed me!

It’s another matter that after that day I never again carried my lunch to school.

(Pic: courtesy the internet)