Decadence

I'd make a lousy journalist. I have not provided much details on the Janadesh march. I mean, I don't march everyday and I don't bother to find out details.

Today, I am trying to decide if I am plugged up or too loose. So I am not marching this morning while I wait for my stomach to go one way or the other.

The march is going into Delhi today. The final 4 km will be tomorrow morning, when the march goes into the Delhi Parliament. Organizers are expecting good news from the government. The hope is, the Prime Minister will announce the formation of a land commission, with the PM as chair, and Ekta Parishad as part of the commission.

Police security has been tight as we near Delhi. The mood is optimistic. We'll see what actually goes down tomorrow.

So I went to The Big Chill for lunch yesterday. Before this excursion, I picked up the Hindustan Times and read on the front page that 62% of Indian women in urban areas are obese because they snack on junk food before dinner. Studies show that in Delhi, 100% of women snack on noodles, chips, biscuits and other high carb foods before dinner. Woes of the West has already hit India.

I carried India's obesity statistics with me as I enter The Big Chill. It is a western restaurant for the young and trendy. Nothing fancy. Olive Garden like, if you know what I mean, but more run down as everything seems to be in India. The restaurant is manned by a Chinese staff. I am sure that was Cantonese-Hindi I was overhearing.

You know, to sink your teeth into something familiar and firm, where the flavours of food seek out your tastebuds to massage them instead of destroy them, is kind of like having your cheeks stroked and lips kissed. I shared a pear and blue cheese salad, with real red leaf lettuce. Apparently, lettuce is hard to find in India. I certainly have not seen it yet in markets.

Then I had chicken stuffed ravioli in a tomato cream sauce. Somehow, this restaurant manages to find and use the freshest ingredients, and blend them together just so. My appetite has shrunk for sure though my jeans still fit the same. But I couldn't resist having a scoop of Columbian mocha ice cream for dessert. I probably consumed more calories in that one meal than I have in the last week. And I didn't care about obesity in India or Canada at that moment.

I tried to decide whether the food was actually well-prepared and excellent, or if I was just starved for non-Indian food. It doesn't matter. It was a creature comfort experience that bonded the four of us at the table the way food is meant to do.