I eat with my hands, if I ever visit,
n a restaurant, starred hotels.
where the tables are set.
Fork, spoon, knife
beside the plate remain
untouched,
The joy of mixing rice
with broth and ghee,
rasam and papads,
curd and pickle. the curries
that go with them,
I experience a physical
connection, it is Vedas
Through the thumb comes space
Through the forefinger comes air
Through the mid-finger comes fire
Through the ring finger comes water
Through the pinky finger comes earth
The mind, body and spirit commune
with the food, sensing the temperature,
feeling the contents, a consistent eating
progresses
Above all, it is your hand,
mind you the right one,
that goes into your mouth
not the cutlery used by others.
Is it not hygienic, that way?
Meenas Poems 