Rich steal the poor man’s food

As foods such as ragi, lauki, yam, tapioca, a staple of the poor, become fashionable, eating habits of a majority are changing. Pushpesh Pant looks at the trend of poor people losing out to the rich on healthy, nutritious food

AS the old folk tale has it, the prince out on a hunt was bewitched by the beauty of a poor tribal girl and married her. The queen was served the choicest of delicacies but seemed to waste away. The royal physician was called who diagnosed her illness promptly. The lavish palace spread lacked the nutrients she used to get from her rustic fare. A thick bajra roti did what all expensive and exotic medicines could not do. It seems we have come full circle.

Sick, literally, of our ‘refined’ diet—flour, sugar and oils and tasty meats—we are drooling wistfully at what the poor have always sustained themselves on. The shelves in the superstores in metros are groaning under the weight of attractive packets of coarse grain—rice, barley, oats, millets and other life-restoring roughage—bran, unhusked lentils and myriad sprouts.

Jaggery, sorry good old gur, is back in vogue as a sweetener and those who swear by unrefined cold-pressed oils are a legion. The jargon bandied about is impressive: fructose is better than sucrose and lactose can supplement the crude, refined crystals of white sugar and the natural salts in greens like spinach are enough.

Part, only a part, of this revival in foods of the impoverished can be traced to what the doctors prescribe. There is a general agreement among the heart specialists, endocrinologists and others of their kin that coarser it goes in, the smoother it comes out. If the arteries are to remain unclogged and the gut pleasantly active, all of us must discover the joys of ragi and chana.

Leafy greens and yellow pumpkins, along with the squishy squashes, are best for us, not exotica like wild mushrooms and artichokes. Forget dollops of ghee, polyunsaturated fats measured in T.S. Eliot like teaspoons are an over indulgence. Rukha sookha, synonymous with the rustic rural fare of the deprived lot is, we are told, the healthiest repast.

Post-operation rehab clinics in high-tech hospitals like Escorts and Apollo have accorded the pride of place in their menus to dalia and the like. And don’t kid yourselves that sattoo is the favourite of Laluji and Rabri Devi alone. Those conscious of their figure and worried about weight are only too happy to replace factory-made cereals, corn or other flakes with pounded rice flakes or poha.

Another contributing factor has been the discovery of ethnic a.k.a. regional and sub-regional cuisines. If Kerala is indeed God’s own country how can you remain untouched by the charms of kapa curry? Who is bothered if kapa, known as tapioca elsewhere, was imported by a benevolent prince to save his people during a famine in the 19^th century, is the quintessential diet-dole for the starving. And if you are into Karnataka-Koduga bit of Incredible India, ragi balls offer themselves as an alternative to steamed rice as an accompaniment to vegetarian and non-vegetarian gravies.

The sublime Kashmiri wazwan that rivals in resplendence the best the Mughaliya cuisine has to offer includes the plebian lauki, mooli and shalgam in different avatars that the gourmet are happy to identify with. In the Hindi heartland, the watery jhol/ghol, with just a stray piece of potato floating in it, is more than enough to please the most fastidious diner if the bedami or puri on the pattal is done to perfection.

Call it reverse snobbery if you like, but ‘foodies’ can easily come to blows disputing relative merits of hing or zeera in such a concoction. In Uttaranchal, aloo ka thechua is made flavourful with the infusion of ginger where an occasional laung is the height of luxury. These no-option staples have acquired the status of classics in satvik food festivals during pitra-paksha and the navaratras.

There are instances where poor man’s food becomes a badge of honour; this is when linguistic-cultural pride fuels political ambitions and dreams. Jhunkar–Bhakari is as much a symbol of proud Maratha identity as the ‘richer’ shrikhand. Sangri ka saag occupies a similar status in Rajasthan.

During ritual celebrations in Uttaranchal, the baant that is cooked is nothing more or less than the poorest of the poor’s attempt at stretching the tasty thin soup as far as possible. Those who can’t, under the doctor’s advice, consume the usual quota of qorma and kaliya are looking at this option.

Enterprising chefs too have exerted constantly to dive deep and retrieve culinary ‘pearls that were usually cast before pigs (read poor). Zimikand or yam looks quite repulsive and was dismissed as tasteless by elegant eaters.

Craft a kebab out of it and christen it tohfa e zamin and see how many can resist its seductions? It was the one and only Jiggs, assisted by Faruk Miyan, who dared to unveil this ‘lost gem’ at Delhi ka Angan more than a decade back and it was not long before imitators swamped the sites with not only similar vegetarian shami but seekh kebab and kofta also. Recently, we were served zimi tikka at a cocktail party and surely the day is not far off when zimi pasande will make their debut. The jaded palate often needs a powerful jolt before it can register any taste at all—this is what the stronger stuff imbibed by the poor provides in abundance. Amrakh and amla ground in a chutney are not only a novelty but considered therapeutic also.

And, finally there is the enigma of intellectual property rights. There is a strong buzz that the MNCs are sleuthing around to plunder our traditional knowledge repositories and patent whatever is priceless, rendering it beyond our reach. Much of this coveted stuff, it is believed, falls in the domain of ‘poor man’s food’ incorporating the wisdom of the ancients regarding seasonally and regionally appropriate diet. It is not only ayurveda that has filtered down to the grassroots, it is the grassroot that have nourished the classic texts of indigenous medicine. Rai and methi, used for tempering by countless generations of Indian villagers, are back in vogue.

As a matter of fact, all these diverse streams blend and add value dramatically to what was till yesterday considered worthless. The time has come also to ask the question how is all this affecting us? Also, spare a thought for the poor whose riches we have started plundering so shamelessly.

With increasing demand for rustic fare, the coarse has become costlier. ‘Organic’ is the mantra that can transform dross to gold in the blink of an eye. Certification standards varying from place to place are too complicated to understand or unravel but the claim is enough to jack up the price. Soyabeans provide an illuminating illustration. Villagers in Uttaranchal hills have for generations been eating bhatt (black soya beans) without much fuss or relish but drawing all the healthy benefits.

It is for the same stuff they and us have to pay a price when bought in the form of nuggets/baris. Powder and purify (refine?) the poor man’s bean and the appreciation in value is more than 1000 per cent. The irony of refining and rendering criminally expensive something that was essentially simple and affordable is lost on most consumers. Tetra-packaged soya milk is much more expensive than anything dairy fresh. Madua (ragi) was sought to be exported as the base for baby food by a Tughlaq-like bureaucrat in Uttaranchal recently, causing a shortage (fortunately short-lived) in the hill villages.

Increasing demand has, similarly, put beyond the commoner’s reach parched/dry roasted gram, maize and peanuts. There is a risk that market demand in future may make these bounties of nature extinct for the natives. While the well-heeled, the rich and the powerful are busy stealing their ‘rich’ foods, the gullible poor have been wasting their hard-earned money on what they think is ‘rich’ foods. Imitating the master’s lifestyle has its hazards. Have cake today when bread tomorrow is not assured. Such is the stuff memories are made of.

Junk food, like two-minute noodles, assorted pizzas and burgers made by the khomchawala are bad enough, chips and biscuits are routinely shoved down the howling child’s throat to quell pangs of hunger or control a brat’s tantrums. The maid in a friend’s house was surprised and left speechless when it was pointed out to her that the potato chips marketed by an MNC she had bought for her child were as expensive as salted cashew nuts or almonds, gram by gram.

Kaushalya who ‘manned’ the tandoor by the roadside in Rajinder Nagar once upon a time and turned out oven-fresh roti and parantha for her patrons, handed out slices of Modern bread to her brood without batting the proverbial eyelid. Signs of time or premonition of doom? Ponder the point as you take a bit of the madua chocolate cake with tulsi tea next time.

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