Growing up I wasn't a picky eater. But I did have a palette of choice - spicy and tangy. Before the 'foreign' greens like broccoli and bok choy took over, my childhood vegetables were what which was quick and easy to make for a working mother. I grew up eating plants with animal names such as muyalcheviyan meaning rabbit's ears. Greens have been powdered and spiced, for example, karivepilapodi to eat along with hot rice, as taste enhancers in the form of curry leaves, bay and coriander. Also in the regular curry and poriyal forms were various types of spinaches ranging from palak to arakerai. As Samwise says in Lord of the Rings, they were boiled and mashed and stuck in a stew.
Why greens? What did they do to me? I went out to dinner with my colleagues on a weekend, at a Punjabi restaurant. We ordered the regular which was sarson ka saag and makke de roti. The roti was soft and flaky. Dipping those in the dark green saag with garlic tadka and into my mouth. It was a marriage of melodies. I unashamedly licked the bowl clean. We did gorge on chaats, but the green and the garlic were the stars.
While savouring those, I thought of our hostel mess food - methi aloo. The individual methi leaves were clinging to the soft potatoes. The sweet roasted garlic scattered across was heavenly. And how well they merged with steaming rice and dal. While eating this I was reminded of a colleague cooking for us. In that elaborate meal setting, I was salivating for the methi he made. The soft bits of garlic and the earthy methi were a learning experience on how a simple, humble allium loses itself to the green.
From the privilege that I am in, I say food is beyond what is just needed for survival. They are your childhood memories, your teenage rebellion and the late but old-age realisation.