Dietary advice and otherwise
IN ayurveda, healthy food is termed maha bhaishajya — the best medicine. It is emphasised that “with appropriate diet, medicine is not needed, and without proper diet, medicine is of little use”. Dietary advice, therefore, forms an integral part of a doctor’s prescription. During my training days, I was told that the diet should be mentioned right at the top. However, the kind of response such advice gets is often determined by the patient and his/her peculiar circumstances.
My surgery teacher would narrate a story with a hearty laugh. A fellow from a rural area came for a follow-up after his surgery. It was apparent that he had gained weight. On being confronted about this development, he innocently admitted that he had been advised a ‘light diet’. He disclosed that he was reluctant to ask the doctor about the details and was unable to figure out himself what would constitute a ‘light diet’. Once back home in his village, he went to the sarpanch for guidance. The headman pondered over this vexatious issue and then opined, “Desi ghee floats in water. Pakoras, in turn, float in ghee. Therefore, desi ghee pakoras or puris would be an appropriate healthy ‘light diet’.” After hearing this amusing tale, I became very wary of recommending a ‘light diet’ to anyone.
I took pains to impress upon a patient with a heart ailment to reduce the consumption of pinnis and other sweetmeats, which he was extremely fond of. On his next visit, he whispered in my ear in a conciliatory tone, “Sir, you had firmly forbidden me from eating desi ghee pinnis last winter. Therefore, this year, we have made pinnis in refined oil.” His logic left me speechless, while I wiped beads of sweat off my brow.
Even as I take the moral high ground about ‘permissive edibility’, I realise that I am no less vulnerable than my patients. Soon after we got married, my wife was startled to see me gorge on nearly half a kilo of jalebis. She later asked my cousin, “Bhaiyya, are you also fond of eating like him?” He quipped, “No, not eating… but overeating perhaps!” The message was eloquently driven home.
Once, I happened to accompany my wife to the neighbourhood apni mandi. After buying bhindi (okra) and putting it in my bag, I pleaded with her to get masala bhindi cooked for dinner. While she was busy making purchases, I animatedly demonstrated how to get the vegetable sliced, fill it with masala and then keep it aside for some time before deep-frying it. I was rudely jolted out of my reverie by her sharp reply, “Would you let me reach home first?”
I was dismayed at her apparent disinterest in this culinary subject. However, I could now empathise better with my patients.
