![]() Leaving the café, the cycle ride continues, and the mystery of India’s relationship with animals… and with food… just gets deeper. ![]() In India, the cow isn’t owned, managed or monetised. On that morning, the cow and I simply chose to have breakfast in the same chai stall. In any India town or village, the sacred cow is just another soul, weaving its way through the traffic, colour and people. In India, the sacred cow is treated… not as pet, as an object or as a thing… but as a BEING. The cow stares at me as it chews its chapati.Īnd that’s when it hits me. In my life, have I ever seen a catering professional feed breakfast to a free-roaming cow? ![]() When the chapatis are gone, he tries to tempt the cow with deep-fried vada. Walking past me with a pile of chapatis, the owner of the chai stall approaches the cow and gently feeds it the warm breads – one by one. Then the drama takes a totally Indian turn. I sense there is going to be some kind of revelation. One more step, and its breath will disturb the steam on my masala chai. Looking at this powerful, gentle animal in the café entrance, I glimpse some of that logic.Ĭalmly, the cow walks deeper into the room and finally stops within about a metre from my table. One more step towards me, and the cow’s breath will disturb the steam on my masala chai. Indians have told me they revere the cow as a symbol of maternal strength and care, and as the only animal whose milk can sustain a human infant. Why do western and Indian cultures feel so differently about the same animal? I need to pinch myself.įor everyone else, the cow seems to belong to the place as naturally as the early morning light. Here in the town of Kushalnagar, in Karnataka… nada.Īs I enter a chai shop on ’s high-street, a large cow with a serious set of horns walks in right behind me. There’d be bedlam: flashing blue lights, police tape, crowds waving mobile phones. Maybe crossing from Soho into Chinatown? What would happen? I try to imagine an unaccompanied cow moving around my city, and exploring some of my favourite haunts. I think it’s the mind-boggling fact that a large ruminant – which every other nation on earth imprisons behind fences – is free to wander across India… wherever it wants. I’ve written before about why masala chai takes me to a state of bliss. Just once… I’ve been hit by both in the same moment. In my journeys across this amazing country, what’s the stimulus that tells me I’M IN INDIA? So… what was my answer to Hemal’s question? It’s that fleeting moment, when you’re wholly, totally in the country you’ve chosen to visit. My trip… anyone’s trip… is all about that split second when you let go of your mental baggage, and stare in pure wonder at what’s around you. “On your cycle trip, when was the moment you said to yourself… “NOW I’M IN INDIA!”? Then, gently, he hit me with THE QUESTION… Sitting in the dining hall of his ashram, Hemal and I caught up on each other’s news, laughed, and ate. … a question that makes you peer inside your own head.įinishing a coast-to-coast cycle ride across Southern India, I had the chance to spend a few days with a friend, Hemal, who’d moved to live in Pondicherry. One of the precious gifts a friend can share is to ask you the perfect question… How sharing breakfast with a sacred cow gave me the answer to a stubborn question
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