No Lunch Break for Adults

Whether it’s Daawat-e-Eid, Onasadya, Langar, or Christmas dinner, most of us are familiar with the concept of community dining. Family gatherings, festival celebrations, and religious feasts have endeared us to the revelry and conversation that is part and parcel of the meal. Today, community eating is resigned to a few days every year rather than an everyday occurrence. When I think of the last time I shared a meal with a group, I hear the bell ring. But it’s not just any bell; it’s the second-favourite school bell — The Lunch Break.

It was an hour of promise, mischief and delight. When you put the finishing touches of a project, due in an hour or walk down the corridor to catch a flirtatious glance from a flame. Most importantly, it was an introduction to community eating. For those who didn’t eat amidst the charming chaos of a joint family, the lunch break was when they first broke bread with a group.

This volatile environment is charged with a heady scent of coconut, chilli, fish, tamarind and other marvels of the Malayali pantry. Like a midnight mutiny, the aroma of lunch boxes wafted through the air and all bets were off; this hour was notorious for challenging the existing hierarchies and testing teenage loyalties. Unions were cemented with fish curry and bridges were burnt over a bigger piece of porotta. I was part of a special-case coalition where my resources of pillowy chappathi were the vehicle for my friend’s offering of spicy and tender beef with shards of coconut. Together, we parlayed our lunches for all our cravings — information, favours and camaraderie.

And before you know it — you’re on a couch, looking into a screen with no bell to jolt you and no mystery left in lunch hour. One of the greatest sorrows of adulthood is outgrowing the simpler things like eating together. As we discover the joys of leading singular lives, we forget what it is to be a part of something bigger. We opt for ease and speed and this appetite for convenience has grown voraciously, judging by the growth of the food-delivery sector. More and more people are adopting this solitary life with microwaveable single-servings and door-to-door delivery. Major players in the food delivery service have tripled their revenue by being a part of your daily life. Frozen ready-to-eat meals eschew flavour and nutrition for convenience and this ethos seems to be working. Even those who resist temptation and cook their own meals, plonk themselves in front of a screen and mindlessly eat while watching, ironically, cooking shows. With synthetic food, cultured meats and meal pills on the horizon, we’re on track to forgetting so much.

Funnily enough, community dining has taken the culinary world by storm. Top restaurants and popular chefs curate an elaborate and exorbitant 5-star menu along with a fine-tuned guest list. It’s curious why we routinely opt for this when we could just knock on the neighbour’s door with a casserole of biriyani. It’s a disappointing paradox, a time where we’re ridiculously obsessed with food yet so cut off from its purpose.

The lunch break was where we learned to laugh, love and live. It was a time of innocence and joy that went by too fast. In the throes of digital turbulence, perhaps adults need something grounding like a lunch break to remember that the true purpose of food is bringing people together.