Nobody writes, at least until now, that “red meat is harmful to health” as they do with other products. But for the last few years, doctors have been doing it their own way: telling patients or people in general to avoid too much red meat, or to give it up altogether, which they say is not good for your health, particularly for heart health. Many people, including us common mortals, do follow the advice, some very religiously remove it entirely. We didn’t give it up entirely, but our consumption of red meat became sparse and very occasion-specific. For most of us in India, red meat means ‘lamb’, goat, sheep or lamp meat, while others have switched to pork; although the last variety hadn’t gotten any ‘eating’ certificate from doctors that I know of, but of course, the last variety is much cheaper than lamb. I prefer not to talk about beef because of the danger of becoming politically incorrect.
In our childhood days, however, things weren’t quite as health-oriented, and doctors back then didn’t preach as much about what to eat or not eat. So, we usually used to have lamb for lunch on Sundays, and that was the day we kids longed for. Of course, sometimes cold rainy or winter nights were delightful exceptions. Some people ate it more often than they could afford, because the price of lamb was higher than all others of its kind at that time as well. And it was a general belief, even now most people believe, that no other meat or chicken curry could match that deliciously cooked mutton curry.
As we mentioned, with the rise of the new generation of doctors, our consumption of lamb had become rare, and we were mostly consuming chicken and river fish as usual. This is not to say that we ever forget the universally acknowledged fact that mutton curry was the tastiest of all, and the older generation of housewives, including our grandmothers and mothers, used to cook it exceptionally well, which we could never erase. our minds.
That particular Sunday morning we decided to have lamb meat, as I reasoned with my wife that we had almost forgotten the last time we tasted that, and she agreed. Therefore, I went out to the local market with a jovial heart. The meat and fish market was located in a dilapidated concrete building; I went up the broken steps and approached the store I mainly shopped at. She received me with a wide smile without forgetting to remind me that we hadn’t seen each other in a long time. I nodded smiling and busied myself selecting the pieces he cut from the hanging fleshy bodies. You have to be very careful in this job, because butchers are very adept at mixing up old cut pieces in the blink of an eye.
He followed my instructions and packed the carefully cut pieces of meat in a black polythene bag. I paid and was surprised to learn that the price went up again. Even now I don’t know how higher prices can be maintained without enough demand in the market. Or maybe a lot of people continue to eat lamb meat and butchers slaughter a limited number of animals to meet the demand for that one piece only and so they can keep prices higher, because occasional eaters like me show up regularly too.
As he was walking down the steps of the building and onto the narrow concrete walkway that led to the road, something strange happened.
I felt a kind of tug in my right hand that was carrying the polythene bag, and suddenly the bag became much lighter. I looked at my bag and jumped, almost at my wit’s end. I saw a dog behind me snarling and baring its teeth, pulling and tearing the expensive bag. Within seconds I saw all the carefully cut pieces of meat scattered on the concrete floor, and the dog busy with two or three pieces of it. So fierce was the bite that not a single piece was left in the bag.
Before I could realize the immensity of the tragedy and know how to react, act or scream, I watched helplessly as a street beggar greedily scooped up the other pieces and stuffed them into his sturdy cloth bag. When I came to my senses, I first thought of going back to the butcher and complaining. But I saw the futility of that, because I would definitely wonder why I didn’t do anything to try to get the pieces back peacefully or by force. I sadly deposited the empty polythene in a garbage can and started walking back home, depressed and also afraid, because I was sure that my wife would definitely blame me for my carelessness.
I got home by ringing the doorbell. My wife noticed my empty hands and she looked at me questioningly. I went in and sat down heavily on the sofa. In an air of suffocating suspense I narrated what happened to me, or rather to the flesh. She was so surprised by the peculiarity of the incident that she forgot to scold me or do anything like that. After a few scary moments, for me, she started laughing. Immensely relieved, I also joined her in this joy of tragic proportions. However, in the back of my mind I decided not to visit that damn shop for a long time and asked my wife if she would rather go for chicken now. She said no, still laughing, and she added that a curried egg would do for lunch.
The story circulated very quickly among our friends and relatives, and they were all shocked beyond measure, and yet loved hearing it over and over again. History is not forgotten even now, after the long years that had passed in the meantime.