Skip to main content

Divine Potato

 


Potato enlightened me once. I had, on the previous day, attended a lecture on meditation in which the speaker suggested to his audience to use a candle as an aid to concentration. “Keep your eyes on the candle flame,” he said. “Let the flame flicker. Your gaze shouldn’t flicker. Keep looking at the flame. Keep looking. Focus. Now there is nothing else in front of you but the flame. Just the flame. You don’t exist now. Not even your mind. You vanish. Your mind vanishes. Into nothingness. That state of egolessness is the ideal goal of meditation.”

I was sceptical because I had already spent hours earlier trying to achieve that state of egolessness. The best I achieved was a deep sleep. Even now at the age of 61, I find myself burdened with an ego that could not be incinerated by any furnace, let alone a candle flame. I can only envy those who claim to have extinguished their egos. Back then, after that lecture on meditation, while cooking my dinner in the tiny kitchen of a rented house in Shillong, with a peg or two of whisky tickling my neurones, I said to myself: “Why a candle flame? Even a potato can help one to focus, can’t it?”

Potato was (and still is) one of my favourite food items. It is so versatile. You can add it to almost anything. Potato and carrots. Potato and peas. Potato and French beans. I would add potato to beef too. [By the way, I quit beef the day I left Shillong where it was a staple food, not in order to be in sync with the emerging nationalist fad but because I lived in Delhi where the stuff was not available first of all and when I did get it during my occasional trips to Kerala I realised that the delicate vegetarian diets in Delhi had made my teeth grow too feeble for beef. I’d prefer muttar-paneer with a tweak of potato chunks at any time to beef.]

So there in the wooden cottage in Shillong which resembled a hermitage, I became a mystic with a shapely potato perched on my study table like a holy figurine. I focused my gaze on the potato. I kept staring at it for minutes and minutes yearning for me, my ego, to melt away. The potato filled my mind. It grew in stature into a kind of demigod. Eventually it enlightened me by teaching me that my attempt to escape from my ego was nothing more than wishful thinking.

The potato went back to the kitchen and I went back to the usual routine.

The potato rose in eminence in my mind after that. I became fonder of it. Not a meal passed without the presence of potato in one form or another. Even today, years after those youthful days of experiments and adventures, the potato occupies a venerable place in my cuisine though Maggie is not very pleased with it.

However, my patriotic sentiments are hurt by the information that potato is not Indian by origin. Wikipedia tells me that India was introduced to potato by the Portuguese who called it ‘Batata’. For that matter, a lot of food items that are staple diets today are not Indian by origin. When will they get arrested for illegal residence in the country? Maybe, I should rewrite the history of the potato so that my patriotism remains intact.

PS. Written for Indispire Edition 373: Potato and you. Write an essay. As many words as you please. The genre you choose. Potato must be the hero. #Potato

Comments

  1. The indirect sentences sounds too direct in my head and yes i too have tried the flame thingy a couple of times, but this tells me that you don't need a flame all you need is to concentrate... i see that you couldn't lemme try it with an onion this time lol, not cause i hate potatoes, they trouble my stomach.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. You can choose onions too. Anything can enlighten one, I guess.

      Delete
  2. Enjoyed reading this one, especially the last line yorker!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. All my attempts at humor end up in satire if not sarcasm.

      Delete
  3. Potato was (and is) is my favourite. Like you said it can be added in any curry. Whenever I hear or see potato, I am reminded of the scenes where it was a scarce item in Russia that it had to be guarded with machine guns by the army.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Potato is a staple food in many countries. Kerala, my native state, is the only place probably where it is treated with contempt. Keralites believe that potato causes gas problem in the stomach!

      Delete
  4. Chuckled through your humorous take on potato. I am reminded of a classmate and also a boarder mate of School and College days who used to selectively eat only potato out of the vegetable dishes and wear glasses with big round lenses.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. So I have a mate there. :)
      My love for potato is rather serious, you know. It's so soft that it melts away between the palates.

      Delete
  5. Portugese called it Batata’- interesting. In Marathi it is called Batata. Infact staying in Mumbai for a long time - I m more familar to Kandha -Batata ( Onion-Potato) than Pyaaz- Aaloo.

    Thanks for the prompt on Indispire. It got me back to writing mode.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Florentino’s Many Loves

Florentino Ariza has had 622 serious relationships (combo pack with sex) apart from numerous fleeting liaisons before he is able to embrace the only woman whom he loved with all his heart and soul. And that embrace happens “after a long and troubled love affair” that lasted 51 years, 9 months, and 4 days. Florentino is in his late 70s when he is able to behold, and hold as well, the very body of his beloved Fermina, who is just a few years younger than him. She now stands before him with her wrinkled shoulders, sagged breasts, and flabby skin that is as pale and cold as a frog’s. It is the culmination of a long, very long, wait as far as Florentino is concerned, the end of his passionate quest for his holy grail. “I’ve remained a virgin for you,” he says. All those 622 and more women whose details filled the 25 diaries that he kept writing with meticulous devotion have now vanished into thin air. They mean nothing now that he has reached where he longed to reach all his life. The

Country without a national language

India has no national language because the country has too many languages. Apart from the officially recognised 22 languages are the hundreds of regional languages and dialects. It would be preposterous to imagine one particular language as the national language in such a situation. That is why the visionary leaders of Independent India decided upon a three-language policy for most purposes: Hindi, English, and the local language. The other day two pranksters from the Hindi belt landed in Bengaluru airport wearing T-shirts declaring Hindi as the national language. They posted a picture on X and it evoked angry responses from a lot of Indians who don’t speak Hindi.  The worthiness of Hindi to be India’s national language was debated umpteen times and there is nothing new to add to all that verbiage. Yet it seems a reminder is in good place now for the likes of the above puerile young men. Language is a power-tool . One of the first things done by colonisers and conquerors is to

Diwali, Gifts, and Promises

Diwali gifts for me! This is the first time in my 52 years of existence that I received so many gifts in the name of Diwali.  In Kerala, where I was born and brought up, Diwali was not celebrated at all in those days, the days of my childhood.  Even now the festival is not celebrated in the villages of Kerala as I found out from my friends there.  It is celebrated in the cities (and some villages) where people from North Indian states live.  When I settled down in Delhi in 2001 Diwali was a shock to me.  I was sitting in the balcony of a relative of mine who resided in Sadiq Nagar.  I was amazed to see the fireworks that lit up the city sky and polluted the entire atmosphere in the city.  There was a medical store nearby from which I could buy Otrivin nasal drops to open up those little holes in my nose (which have been examined by many physicians and given up as, perhaps, a hopeless case) which were blocked because of the Diwali smoke.  The festivals of North India

Unromantic Men

Romance is a tenderness of the heart. That is disappearing even from the movies. Tenderness of heart is not a virtue anymore; it is a weakness. Who is an ideal man in today’s world? Shakespeare’s Romeo and Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay’s Devdas would be considered as fools in today’s world in which the wealthiest individuals appear on elite lists, ‘strong’ leaders are hailed as nationalist heroes, and success is equated with anything other than traditional virtues. The protagonist of Colleen McCullough’s 1977 novel, The Thorn Birds [which sold more than 33 million copies], is torn between his idealism and his natural weaknesses as a human being. Ralph de Bricassart is a young Catholic priest who is sent on a kind of punishment-appointment to a remote rural area of Australia where the Cleary family arrives from New Zealand in 1921 to take care of the enormous estate of Mary Carson who is Paddy Cleary’s own sister. Meggy Cleary is the only daughter of Paddy and Fiona who have eight so