Sreelekha recounts a train journey where social influence led to unexpected food choices, contrasting personal preferences, and satisfaction—an exclusive for Different Truths.

Our food choices are primarily dependent on their availability, though other factors, including affordability, convenience, and access; time invested in the preparation of meals; education regarding the nutritional value; taste preference; sensory attributes; cognitive restraint; and cultural familiarity, play an equally important role. I remember one such incident that happened while travelling almost two decades ago where the food selection was entirely based on the social context—an individual’s eating behaviour and dietary choice directly influenced another’s food consumption. 

It was the beginning of one of those blazing hot summers in Delhi when I settled down beside the window of the Delhi-Howrah Rajdhani Express at around four in the evening. A young boy of probably seven or eight was casting covetous looks at the window as if these were some prized possessions of mine. During my childhood days, I had the same desire to occupy a window seat. Even if I hadn’t gotten one, I would request, coax, and finally somehow conquer it. That day was no different. Though I felt bad for the little boy, I didn’t wish to give up the window seat that I had acquired with some luck. 

Within minutes, all the seats were filled. I gradually learned that all the passengers in our bay were Bengalis. I was travelling to Kolkata to attend a conference on micromanagement at the rural level—a ceremonious occasion to display with pride the successful completion of a project related to it that was undertaken by our firm. 

A smart young man in his mid-twenties took the window seat on the opposite side. As soon as he declared that he had an MBA degree from a reputed institute and was on a short break from his first job at an MNC, he was treated like a god. At the time, MBA degree holders were revered in our country, as very few institutes provided the opportunity to study the course. It wasn’t like nowadays, where every Tom, Dick, and Harry has an MBA, and that too from institutes that are sprawling in every nook and corner of the big cities. I am surprised to learn that even doctors are studying MBA nowadays to get a better understanding of the management of time as well as patients.

Another young girl, probably in her last teen years, who was studying at a college in Delhi, was travelling home during the summer vacation. She took the seat next to mine. 

A young family—husband, wife, and a small boy who was envious of my position next to the window—settled down on the remaining seats. The husband, along with his wife and son, had travelled to Delhi on business. 

All of us were in a jovial mood as we played antakshari and then dumb charades (guessing the names of Hindi and Bengali movies). The family was enjoying it the most, especially the husband, who was lost in admiration for the MBA guy and had already sold and pledged to hold him in high regard. We played in two groups. I do not clearly remember which team won the games, but it was the bright MBA guy whom we all wanted in our team, and probably the one in which he was there had succeeded the maximum number of times. In between, I kept looking out the glass-paned window, enjoying the view of the natural surroundings until the crepuscular light faintly coloured them. 

At around seven in the evening, tomato soup (with two crouton sticks and salt and pepper sachets) was served. The red soup soothed our souls as the rich aroma filled our senses, increasing our appetite for the main course. 

After a while, a staff member from the pantry was going around taking orders for the dinner to be served after some time. When he came over to our berth, I quickly blurted out my preference for an Indian vegetarian meal. Being a regular traveller and based on my experiences of journeying with my mother, I knew that it was the best option available. In the hot, sultry weather, non-vegetarian items, especially meat, might go bad quickly as they needed more preparation time and were hence cooked long before landing on the train. Therefore, the chances of them going stale were there. Vegetarian food, on the other hand, remained fresh for a comparatively long time and was easily digestible. 

The teenage girl expressed her reluctance to have anything for dinner, as she had probably had a heavy lunch with her friends that day and decided to go to bed early. 

“Continental veg, please.” The MBA guy announced his preference. 

Immediately, the family (especially the husband) hastily echoed the MBA guy’s choice, still absorbed in his fondness for him beyond the point of no return, which was evident from his appreciative glances. He kept looking at the MBA guy intermittently, as if for some kind of assurance or out of deep interest, and would withdraw his eyes from him with a sheepish smile on being noticed by any of us. Something within me said that the family was treading on an unaccustomed path, and their enchantment—no matter how enticing—would mislead them, directing them to a new, fictitious territory. 

I waited for dinner like a greedy cat waiting for fish. I had reached the station directly from the office and didn’t get a chance to munch on something in the evening. At last, my vegetarian meal arrived. As soon as I removed the aluminium foil from the plate with compartments, the relishing savoury odour of piping-hot moong dal and mixed vegetables (carrot, beans, brinjal, potatoes) along with that of mango pickle wafted in the air, rioting among themselves for supremacy of one over the other. It was heavenly, a gastronomical delight, accompanied by some rice and four chapatis (Indian flatbread), raita, and a gulab jamun for those with a sweet tooth to have at the end. 

I was reminded of the vegetarian thalis that are served in Indian restaurants—a wholesome combination of colourful, scrumptious dishes served on a big, round plate. An Indian thali usually comprises the main course (dal, sabzi), condiments (raita, chutney, pickle, salad, papad), and side dishes (roti, naan, chapati, paratha, rice). The quintessential thali is more like an exploration of the diverse cultures of India, as the dishes in a thali vary across different geographical regions of the country, but the layout of the platter hardly differs. According to Ayurveda, an Indian thali must have a balance of the six sensory tastes—salt, sour, bitter, spicy, astringent, and sweet. The common cooking oils used are mustard oil (northern and eastern parts of India), vegetable oil (groundnut oil, soybean oil, peanut oil, sesame oil, sunflower oil, and rice bran oil in mostly northern and other parts of the country), and coconut oil (southern regions). Spices are essential for creating the distinct flavours of Indian cuisine, and more than forty are present, some of which are obscure and found only in certain regions. The important spices used in Indian food include dried red chillies (similar to dried Italian red pepperoncini) that range from medium-hot to hot, cinnamon sticks, fenugreek seeds, coriander seeds, cumin seeds, cardamom, brown mustard seeds, ground turmeric, asafoetida, black pepper, cloves, mace, nutmeg, carom, fennel, cinnamon, and bay leaves. 

A typical Rajasthani thali will have dal bati churma, gatte ki sabzi, ker sangria, bajre ki roti, lahsun ki chutney, khichdi, kadhi, roasted papad, and ghevar. While soaking in the warm sun on winter days, one is sure to enjoy the richness of a Punjabi thali—sarson ka saag with a dollop of ghee; makki ki roti with desi ghee; mooli in lime juice; raw onion; mango pickle; chunks of jaggery. The Maharashtrian thali will have dal, rice, chapati, seasonal vegetables, sabudana wada, varan bhat, amti, puran poli, and shrikhand. A typical Kerala thali will have sambar, avail, cabbage thoran, beetroot pachadi, parippu curry, pulissery, rasam, matta rice, Malabar parotta, unniyappam, pappadom, and aval payasam. 

My thali on the train was a generic North Indian one—simple, nourishing, full of flavours and a complete meal in itself. 

I turned around and noticed the family watching me and salivating, which I could make out from their jaw movements and the muscular activity on their necks as they gulped down the lumps that choked them. Unable to control my hunger any longer, I decided to dig in without waiting for the others to receive their dinner and then start eating. The food on my plate kept dwindling, like the grass on a field that keeps disappearing when grazed by starving cattle. 

A little later, the continental dinner arrived. After a soulful bite and being warmed to the core, I was looking around with curiosity about how the family would receive their food. The moment they removed the cover from their plates, I observed their faces turn pale as if they were students answering an exam where the questions asked were out of the syllabus. The vivid disappointment on their faces—eyelids fluttering, lips quivering with the shiver of reality, incoherently whispering something—indicated that the food that was presented belonged to a mysterious world. This wasn’t unexpected, as I knew from the very moment they ordered the food that their displeasure would reach its zenith once the curtain brimming with the excitement of a stupendous achievement would part and reveal the actuality of the untried cuisine.  

I noticed that on each plate there was bread (the white maida one, high on glycemic index and carbohydrates, as at the time the awareness and inclination towards having brown wheat bread—rich in nutrients such as fibre, vitamins, iron, manganese, phosphorus, magnesium, selenium—was not in vogue), mashed potatoes, boiled vegetables (seasonal ones) and a small bowl of custard. On a hot summer evening, unless habituated to that kind of continental cuisine (otherwise nutritious), one is bound to look for something piquant, something to amplify the taste, which can be found in the obtainable vegetarian Indian food that I savoured. 

Vegetarian continental food is considered by many to be bland and unappetizing compared to our spicy Indian dishes. Though meat is the main dish of continental cuisine and occupies a substantial portion of the menu (with cheese slices, veggies, herbs and spices, and lots of delicious sauces), the option of ordering vegetarian dishes is there, as a large number of people in our country are vegetarians. The staple ingredients of the cuisine are olive oil and wine, and cooking techniques are mostly confined to roasting, grilling, and baking, with sauces principally having herbs (basil, rosemary, thyme, oregano, sage, tarragon, chive, parsley, marjoram), garlic, and minimal spices (especially salt and pepper; others include paprika, cumin, dried fenugreek leaves, and calamint). 

The types of continental food served at the time by the railways were very different from those in eateries that catered to the tastes and appetites of their patrons. The concept of fusion food is comparatively new and finds its way into most of the foreign cuisines that have blended with Indian ones nowadays. Moreover, it’s about developing a taste for a particular cuisine. I have heard that many people who initially disliked Japanese sushi later developed a fondness for it. 

Some of the popular, delectable continental foods include cheese pizza (with varieties of toppings like corn, tomatoes, onions, capsicum, mushrooms, and olives), white sauce pasta (with butter and cheese), burgers (with fillings like potato patties, onion, tomato slices, cheese, mayonnaise, and different kinds of sauces), Caesar salad (green salad with croutons and romaine lettuce, dressed with olive oil, parmesan cheese, garlic, and lemon juice), Mediterranean-style grilled vegetables, fried mushrooms, corn croquettes (stuffed with cheese), pancakes (rainbow and hot chocolate, topped with maple syrup, whipped cream, and berries), and pastries.  

I have heard that the veg continental food that is served on trains is much the same as it was at the time when the incident happened. But the options of ordering lip-smacking delicacies online have come up and can easily be delivered to interested passengers at specific stations. 

Food is all about comfort and not a fashion statement, as the family had perceived then. With great difficulty, they ate whatever they could swallow, and the rest was discarded. The MBA guy quickly had his continental toothsome dinner and climbed to the upper bunk with a storybook. 

Food is something that rejuvenates us. Replicating someone else’s food habits is a big no, especially when it comes to trying a new cuisine while travelling when we need to remain mentally alert and physically fit. A half-starved belly wouldn’t be able to provide that. That’s exactly what happened, and the family went to bed hungry. Unlike other trains, Rajdhani being a superfast express stopped at limited stations for a short period, eliminating the option of buying something from outside. Hawkers selling food items were also not allowed inside the train. The passengers had to rely solely on the train’s food service. 

Though the parents didn’t say anything about the food, the child kept on complaining until his mother sang a lullaby to calm him. While the night expanded and took everyone into its folds of nocturnal reveries, the family was left heartbroken and irritable from a half-filled stomach. 

The following morning, it was a half-hearted, absent-minded hello from them. When the staff from the pantry came to take orders, the husband spoke, and this time he specifically mentioned that he wished to have an Indian breakfast. 

Picture design by Anumita Roy

Sreelekha Chatterjee

Sreelekha Chatterjee’s short stories have been published in various magazines and journals like Borderless, The Green Shoe Sanctuary, Storizen, Five Minutes, 101 Words, The Chakkar, The Hooghly Review, Bulb Culture Collective, Prachya Review, and have been included in numerous print and online anthologies such as Fate (Bitterleaf Books, UK), Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul series (Westland Ltd, India), Wisdom of Our Mothers (Familia Books, USA), and several others. She lives in New Delhi, India.

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