EVERY morning, at an unearthly hour of 4.30 am, the alarm rings - twice in succession. One signals,‘Rise & Shine’, and the other is a reminder of popping a pill - first of the many that I ingest throughout the day. Even before I brush my teeth, I gulp the tiny pill - to keep my thyroid in check. It’s supposed to be taken on an empty stomach for it to have an effect on the non-functional gland in my body. As the day goes by, the medicinal buffet comes into play - a colourful array of pills are arranged for me to ingest at specified times - to tackle my BP, cholesterol, calcium deficiency, fatty liver and so on. I feel I am a key participant in a colour wheel designed by pharmaceutical companies to sell their products. I don’t mind popping the pills, the hitch is that the experts (docs and dieticians) have linked all my ailments to food, which is the elixir of my life.While browsing the colourful chart prepared by my dietician, I was appalled to note the instructions laid down by him- if you have BP, red meat is bad for you, suffering from thyroid- abstain from fried meals, refined sugar, fatty liver - strictly avoid white bread, cheese, and so on and so forth. In effect, I noted that I am left with absolutely no choice as to what is beneficial for me in the food pyramid.

 

 

The list of prohibitions, I feel, could easily rival the long list of monthly grocery items for a joint family of ten adults and six kids. “Practice mindful eating,” my dietician recommends. Yes, I do - my mind is always filled with glossy pictures of all the food ‘I can’t eat.’ And that, is very frustrating. The struggle of what to eat and what to avoid starts at the breakfast table; ‘eat breakfast like a King’ is what we have been fed. I want to do just that - eat those yolk laden fried eggs on a cheesy, buttery toast. But I have to be faithful to the various pills that are helping me live a healthy life. I also need fuel in the form of food to keep my body going. Everyday, a face-off ensues between me and the diet chart. “Aah! It’s the day for buttered toast, and a cup of coffee,” I say to myself as I pop bread in the toaster. Diet Chart has a voice of its own, “Excuse me! Did I hear buttered toast? You’re on cholesterol meds. So that’s a no, no.” As for the hot beverage, caffeine is harmful for BP. Shrugging my shoulders, I gravitate towards a fruit. As my hand reaches out for a banana, the diet chart intervenes,“Bananas are rich in potassium, and potassium is not good for BP. And the juicy citrus fruit might mess with your liver medication.” And so I am left with no choice, but to pick up an apple - an apple a day keeps the doctor away.

 

I’ve been eating them for donkey’s years, but it seems the benefit hasn’t rubbed off on me. I hanker after the days when I could bite into a flaky, buttery croissant filled with whipped cream. These days, if I happen to cheat and gobble something that is restricted ( actually most good and tasty things are on the ‘prohibited list’), the guilt of doing so stays with me for a week, affecting my already high Blood Pressure. Detox water is at the top of the recommended list, which, after a point of time, I find to be very toxic. If breakfast is the warm-up to my daily war, lunch is the battlefield. Everyday the foodie me wants to shed copious tears at the lack of variety. Salads are the best options - but what it is that makes a salad delicious? The treacly dressings, the crisp croutons and the gooey cheese. But these don’t find a place on my table. So there I am, at every lunch time, staring at the brightly coloured raw joyless greens. The conversation with diet chart is resumed. “Can I at least have grilled chicken?”“Of course, if it’s free range, organic, skinless and lightly seasoned.” I think my diet chart’s origin is from seven seas across. Free range?!! Doesn’t exist where I reside. Organic - too expensive. And Indians cannot have lightly seasoned protein. So that is off the table for good. “Perhaps some lentils?” is my next ask. Maybe some Quinoa? But then I remember that lentils in their purest form herald the gout, put pressure on my kidneys, and quinoa - otherwise the superfood in the world of fitness enthusiasts, comes with a side of ‘don’t overdo it’ because of the liver meds. How is it possible for an innocent grain to have extreme dual functions? By the time it’s time for dinner - mind you early dinner so that there is enough time for it to be digested and not put pressure on the various organs, my condition is such that I only want to dig in some comfort food. Rice and daal and the ubiquitous favourite of every person, but rice is a forbidden -too much starch, says my BP pill.

 

At the end of every food ordeal, I feel I am a participant in ‘Survivor: The Kitchen Edition’ where the goal is to endure food to survive, not to enjoy and savour as we all wont to do. Even as I do my best to eat healthy for a long life, (like my mother who will not leave the earth till she has seen all her great grandkids, I want to live till I see my grandson graduate), I am aware that I’m fighting a losing battle for I’m on a perpetual quest to find the delicious edible item that won’t trigger my pill regime’s wrath. As for snacks - they are now an impossible dream. No longer can I open a packet with much fanfare, revelling as much in the scrumptious edibles as in the crackling noise that it makes when it is ripped open, for my BP and cholesterol pills forbid it. Every snack I once loved has become poison. Chocolate, the sinful delight, partaking that is now actually a sin, chips are the devil’s spawn, and even nuts are frowned upon for their salt content. The oily samosas with the tangy chutneys devoured with much relish during tea breaks is a thing of the past. Now even the thought of doing so is a case of existential crisis. I relish the art of cooking. At one time, while cooking, tasting what is being cooked for the perfect blend of spices and culinary perfection, was a norm. Cooking used to be fun - a playground of flavours. No longer - for my kitchen platform now feels like a scene from Crime Scene Investigation. I scrutinise every ingredient, every bite, and with my friend Google’s help, make sure it won’t contradict my pill-induced dietary restrictions.

 

My fitness freak daughter, currently reading a book on mindful eating, avers, “Your body is a temple.” Sure. But the temple has been overtaken by pharmacists, and the joy of food has been replaced by pill-induced paranoia. The meals I once loved have all but disappeared, replaced by a strict regimen of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ lists, dictated by the small army of pills lined up on my countertop. So here I am, living on a diet of cucumber, soup, and water infused with herbs. Who knew that popping a pill would be the first step in laying down so many culinary prohibitions, leaving my plate - almost empty! I remember a quote by Federico Felleni, who had said, “Life is a combination of magic and pasta.” I beg to differ, for me, “Life is a combination of Pills & Prohibition.”