“Don’t waste anything ever,” Mum would say, her voice floating from the kitchen, eyes fixed on my half eaten plate. “God will punish you.” That line became part of the soundtrack of my childhood. I must have heard it a gazillion times growing up, though back then it went in one ear and out the other.
As a kid, I was stubborn when it came to food. My survival kit? Maggi noodles, Kurkure, iced lollies from the cold store, rainbow candies, McDonald’s burgers, pizzas buried under extra cheese, and endless bottles of Coke. I did love fruit, that’s my one saving grace, but I still wasted more food than I’d like to admit. Now, that memory carries a quiet pinch of guilt.
And somewhere between being that child and the person I am today, something shifted. I’ve come to believe that preparing food with the sole purpose of nourishing someone else is one of the purest forms of beauty. Cooking and serving, to me, are among the most divine acts we human beings can perform.
My mother, a teacher, often says that teaching is about giving without expecting anything in return. You invest time, patience, and care into another person, and your reward is their growth. Cooking, I’ve realized, is exactly the same. In teaching, you nourish the mind; in cooking, you nourish the body. Both demand love, patience, and a quiet joy in seeing someone else thrive.
I’ve also come to understand that when Mum said, “Don’t waste anything ever,” it wasn’t just about food; it was about gratitude. About respecting what’s on your plate, the effort behind it, and the hands that made it possible. Every grain of rice, every piece of bread carries a story of someone’s time, labour, and love.
The truth is, food has always been at the center of our lives, ever since the first fires were lit in caves. It is a language everyone can understand. In every country, food tells a story a mix of ingredients, cultures, and traditions that have traveled through time to reach our plates.
I’ve seen hostel friends complain about bland mess food, watched people splurge on lavish dinners, and admired mothers who pack lunch boxes with silent devotion. Food weaves us together in the simplest ways: “Let’s grab a bite,” “Here, try this,” or through the unspoken comfort of a shared tiffin. Every family recipe tells a story. It carries people, places, and moments within it.
There’s warmth even in the smallest gestures: Mum video calling to ask, “Did you eat today?” Sharing a hot meal with friends. Talking over a cup of tea. Laughing over dessert. A toffee shared on vacation or the souvenirs after. A birthday cake glowing with candles. Popcorn at the movies. A late-night pizza on the terrace. Sleepovers fuelled by chips and ice cream. Each of these little rituals has taught me to see food in a new light.
Food is celebration, comfort, and care all at once.
And yes, food is a necessity, but to me, it has become so much more. I’m no longer picky. How could I be, when every bite feels like a blessing? It’s love on a plate.
These days, when I sit down to eat, I don’t just taste the food. I taste love, effort, and care. I think of Mum’s voice from the kitchen, gentle but firm, reminding me, “Don’t waste anything ever.”
And for the first time, I finally understand what she meant.
- Monisha Vyas
