Veg, by nature

Over my vegetarian years, I have learned to survive wherever with whatever. The curious questions are however the difficult part. Is it a fashion, is usually the first curious question. I nod in the negative. Is it probably a diet thing then? What about fish? I reply, 8220;No, not even eggs.8221;

I am generally not too happy with UFOs on my plate. I often keep sniffing at the fare when all the others around me are merrily chomping and talking baseball scores. 8220;Is it vegetarian?8221; I ask. 8220;Those are just beans,8221; a kindly guest smiles at what I mistook to be the kidney of an unborn lamb. 8220;And this,8221; he handles the white strands on my dish with practised ease. 8220;This is plain pasta.8221; 8220;Is the rice cooked in chicken broth?8221; I ask the waiter at Bangkok. 8220;No, sir, it is cooked in water.8221; 8220;Do I see portions of beef on my plate?8221; 8220;No sir, those are pieces of carrot.8221;

Over the years, this trait becomes a reflex action. The other day I was in Singapore, my friends were eager to treat me at 8216;Komal Vilas8217;. This was reputedly the most hallowed vegetarian haunt of the local Indians in the bustle of Little India8217;s Serangoon Road. Within minutes, I was drooling at the plantain leaf laced with exotic rasam and sambar. The waiter ambled up to us, clad in traditional South Indian attire replete with a namaam on his broad forehead.

But I couldn8217;t help myself. Much to his consternation, I heard myself asking that usual question: 8220;Is it vegetarian?8221;