MORE THAN A MOUTHFUL

I’m in pain. It’s not mortal agony just yet but it still hurts, and leaves you feeling oh so empty. And no wonder I feel empty. I haven’t eaten since morning. It’s not like I couldn’t… it’s just that I didn’t! I’m at a Sunday barbecue and every once in a while I see liveried waiters marching in purposefully, cradling shiny handsome platters in their neat whitegloved hands. And as they walk by, the nose follows in the smoke-stream, inhaling aromas that speak of sensual pleasures, of juicy roasted hams that’ll melt in your mouth and exquisite fillet mignons, of smoking grilled lobsters and golden chicken wings dipped in deliciously full-bodied barbecue sauce. Ah, the undying ache of unfulfilled dark desires that leave you aching deep inside.

I look, longingly, eyes smouldering with desire, but I don’t touch. Instead, I tear myself away from the warm, happy and sizzling meat counters and drag myself towards the vegetarian cold and green vegetarian counter. Ah cheese, and baby corn… and ah yes some more cheese, and then they have broccoli, and I did I mention some more cheese and then of course there’s chick peas and there you go… yet more cheese. I oscillated between cottage cheese and blue cheese and sampled some gooey cheese with a bit of smelly cheese, threw another long look at that leg of ham and then sat down at the table and stared reproachfully at the lumpy mass on my plate. My friends at the table were busy chewing on succulent pieces of chicken breasts and I happened to see my reflection on a pair of sun glasses. Th at grave expression on my face that seemed to say “darn! Now what do I do with you?” seemed strangely familiar. Now, where had I seen that expression earlier? Was it…no, not that...or was it…? No, unlikely… No…no…it was…it was… ah yes, it was my math tutor from school!

Overcome by nostalgia and empathy, I felt sorry for that sorry little plate and choked down some chunks of cheese and a mouthful of ferns and weeds. I kept at it till I gagged and then gave up… giving up meat wasn’t easy. For those of you who have always been vegetarians and for those of you who’ve never considered giving up scavenging, here’s an analogy that could perhaps help you understand how blue one gets when one decides to give up eating meat after having been a connoisseur of ‘fine meats’ for most of one’s adult life. Imagine this…you are back to being 20 something and are single and alone at a beach resort in Goa, or Ibiza if you will. The sun and the sand and the rush of the surf as you would know is a heady cocktail… you spend the days by the beach and the nights at the taverns. The whirling blur of toned bodies, intoxicating rhythms and the whiff of the sea floods the senses...Then one evening in the pool you are gently undulating into a relaxing backstroke and accidentally bump into someone. Disconcerted, you turn and come face to face with this rather attractive young lady (actually feel free to choose a gender that suits your mood at the moment) in a saffron sarong, rubbing her forehead where she got poked by your elbow…you apologise, she smiles…there’s small talk as you both wade out, and then you remember to look away…you hope you made the right impression. Looks like you have…she’s smiling at you next morning. You meet, you talk, you preen and dance…Then you feel like you have known each other forever. You love the way she makes you feel and you know there’s no one who made you feel this way before. You share your nights and your days and that time and space you wish that time would stop, but nay, the grains of sand are always shift ing, slipping and sliding into unwanted tomorrows. Before you know it, it’s time to go… You promise to keep in touch but life has plans all its own, and as it twists and turns into the alleys of time. The years roll by and you get busy. Friends and cities come and go and memories of that enchanted holiday so long ago gather dust and mist. But every now and then, on balmy nights and breezy days, you hear her voice and see her smile…you miss her so and long for the warmth of her touch…you feel a sudden lonely pang and wonder where she might be. But you’re all grown up now and too busy to fall in love, so your folks find you a nice agreeable young lady and you marry her to live happily ever after. You move into a bigger house and life is good. You can’t complain.

You are leaving for work one day, while sending texts in a hurry and bump into someone accidentally. You turn to apologise and (I too apologise for the corniness…) and whaddyaknow… it’s her again, rubbing her shoulder as she looks up and smiles that sweet gummy smile you had once known so well. The clock turns back in a hurry and freezes, till your wife calls out and asks if you are fine. She’s your new neighbour, and she’s unattached, still.

Now imagine the pain that’ll wrack your heart everytime she waves at you, smiles and walks by. Th at is the pain I feel at Sunday barbecues and tandoori dinners when I’m stuck with a plate of cheese while you are tucking into those plates of well done steaks and tiger prawns that I had once known so well.

So if it really hurts so much, why bother, you ask? Well, if I haven’t said it often enough, here’s one more reason why. A colleague of mine, a staunch PETA type who would’ve happily posed nude for one of their campaigns, if not for the fact that he’s so hairy he might actually look like he’s campaigning ‘for fur’, once declared that a non vegetarian’s sins are no less than the sins of a rapist. After a dramatic pause punctuated with a few ‘how could you’s, he went on to explain that since most of mankind, except for perhaps the Eskimos, eat meat purely for sensual pleasure, they are no better than those vile men who rape and ravish a weaker individual to satisfy one’s carnal appetite, for little more than pleasure.

I had to admit that logic, though distant, wasn’t absent in the argument. And if one were to say that it isn’t fair to equate the rights of fellow human beings with that of lesser fellow creatures, isn’t it the same mindset which allowed white man to rape, enslave and even murder blacks, browns and yellows for centuries without guilt because they were considered lesser beings? And isn’t it the same mindset of assumed superiority that encouraged the upper castes to ruthlessly exploit the lower castes in this very country? And isn’t it obvious that it is only a matter of time before we also come to realize, or more appropriately, before we have the honest courage to admit, that those we kill and eat for our pleasure today are also creatures with equal rights to life and liberty even though they be very different?

But when that day arrives, I wouldn’t want you to look at your plate the way my math teacher looked at me so I’ll go looking for some vegetarian delights in the coming weeks so that you can see the light without losing your appetite…bon appetit!

THE OLD MAN FROM THE SEA

It was the 8th of January and it must’ve been a cold night in Netanya (Israel). An old man was lying in bed, wrapped in quilts and sheets. There were people surrounding the bed and the mood was somber and grave. There was something vigorous about the old man even as he lay there in bed. The liquid grey eyes looked tired under the rugged brow but the rest of him lay there like a coiled spring, like a big cat in repose. The broad shoulders, the strong chin and those gnarled fingers that looked like digits you wouldn’t want wrapped around your neck or wrist, all seemed to suggest a man of great but contained strength, but those tired grey eyes were at peace with the world around them. As the night wore on, tired heads leaned against the wall and nodded off into a disturbed sleep while others wearily walked into an adjoining room waiting for first light… any light.

The old man closed his eyes and smiled a half smile. The room had become a little stuffy and someone opened a window to let in some fresh air. The salty breeze wafted in from the Mediterranean and reminded the old man of a day nearly 60 years ago…

The Pentcho was no ocean-liner. It was an old riverboat that was being tossed along the waves like an old haggard lion that had been surrounded by a herd of wild buffalo and was being passed on from one angry pair of horns to another. It was a long way from home and a young man stood on the deck and held on to the railing, drenched in the salt and the spray, thinking of the home he had left far behind. There were friends and family and the streets and stores he had known since he was a child that he knew he would never see again. It was a land he had loved but that land had betrayed him and driven him away.

The time was 1940 and Europe was in the eye of an evil storm. Anti-Jewish sentiments whipped up by Nazis, Fascists and their supporters across Europe had resulted in incarcerations, mob violence and mass murders that left Jewish communities across Europe feeling vulnerable and violated. He was reminded of his father who had been a police officer in his native Bratislava, in Slovakia. He had taught him how to wrestle and how to box and how to walk with dignity. He thought of the numerous wrestling tournaments he had won, the plays and the ballets on stage and the thunderous roar of the crowd that always seemed to follow him. But now it was all gone. The roar of the crowds had been replaced by the baying of a mob. The very people who had clapped for him now stood in corners, armed with clubs and knives, waiting for him or any of his people. The police and the anti-Semitic mobs hounded him and his community like wolves and he remembered patrolling the block with his friends, rescuing those who were attacked, fighting and defending his people against these marauders.

He realised that fighting on the streets against armed assailants was a world away from fighting in competitions. He fought hard but knew he couldn’t fight for everybody. Therefore, he started teaching those who would learn how to defend themselves. He realised that the weak and old people needed to learn how to protect themselves far more than the strong. So, he modified his techniques, made them simple and based them on natural human instincts and normal everyday movements which were easy to learn and more importantly, remember and repeat when under attack. For a while the resistance stood firm but later it all went out of hand. In fact, when the local administration and the army got involved in the persecution of the Jews, the community was left with no choice but to leave. Many left when they could while some found it difficult to tear themselves away from their homes. He was amongst the last to leave on the Pentcho, one of the last boats to leave the coast of Europe, packed to the brim with Jews desperately hoping to escape the toxic shadow of the Holocaust before it consumed the continent.

Lying in his bed all these years later, he was reminded of that day when he had left his home with nothing but the wet shirt on his back and headed for the Promised Land. Here in Israel, he became a hero. His brilliant martial abilities and perceptive skills as a teacher endeared him to the Israeli Defense Forces where he became Chief Instructor. He trained the new nation’s greatest soldiers and laid foundation for Israel’s national security. But his greatest gift to the world was yet to come. Aft er retiring from duty he started teaching civilians the art of self defence as he had come to know it. He called it Krav Maga (Contact Combat).

For 88 years, he had fought opponents in the ring, fascists on the streets and fate on the boat but he did it all so that “one could walk in peace”. And on January 9, 1998, he was at peace, with his past, his world and his life. He sighed a long deep sigh, held the hand closest to him and gently let go. Imi Lichtenfeld, champion wrestler, Jewish resistance fighter, a pillar of Israeli society and the creator of Krav Maga breathed his last exactly 13 years ago but his martial moves and philosophy have left behind a legacy that has made the world a safer place.

Sky marshals on planes, commandos in battle, law enforcement officers from New York to New Delhi and civilians like you and me walk in peace today because of Imi Lichtenfeld. I walked into a Krav Maga training centre three years ago and had the opportunity to learn from masters that had been trained by Grandmaster Imi himself. I have seen wimpy boys and delicate ladies transform into bold and confident urban warriors who know how to take care of themselves and their loved ones with a calm courage in the face of daunting odds.

On this New Year’s day, when I read about a 17-year-old being raped and murdered, her face smashed beyond recognition, I know that more oft en than not, it is a crime that could have been prevented. Six months of Krav Maga and most girls would be too hot to handle for an aspiring rapist. This New Year, I hope and wish for you lives in the lap of love and peace, but if you ever need to raise an arm to protest or protect, I hope you would have tried a little Krav Maga… for there’s nothing quite like it to help you walk in peace.