<b>Keya Sarkar:</b> The joys of growing your own food

It is only recently that a friend of ours allowed us to grow vegetables on a plot of land that he had bought years ago but was not using. We approached a farmer, who was willing to do the real work, and our friend and we agreed to share the costs and split the vegetables.

The house we live in is also in the midst of a biggish plot of land. But thanks to several fruit trees that my grandfather planted, which are now mature, there is too much shade in our garden to grow vegetables. So while we can enjoy mangoes, jackfruit, chiku, bel, custard apple and amla, for vegetables we needed a place that got a lot of sun. Our friend's plot surrounded at the fringes by tall trees is ideal.
 

More than access to organic vegetables what this plot has done for city-breds like us is give us a sense of growing food and appreciating how difficult farming is. Besides vegetables, we have tried dal, mustard, sesame and even rice. The farmer, Anisur, who works on the land, indulges us. Since he is allowed no chemical fertilisers or pesticides, he looks on helplessly as healthy plants suddenly die on him. He is unable to appreciate why we are keener on learning than on produce.

Maybe because of this interest in growing, in farming, we suddenly seem to have been acquainted with many people with similar interests, in fact far serious than ours. So much learning happens with the exchange of notes on seeds, indigenous varieties versus hybrid, the ways to de-husk produce and much more.

One such recent acquaintance, a couple much younger than us with a child, have bought a large plot about 10 km from ours. While they do take help from labourers at the time of sowing or harvesting, it's mostly their labour. After 14 years of desk jobs in the US, this is a great strength of their fitness and often even their voices on the phone reveal the rigours of the day.

Last week these friends invited us over for a meal. The pleasure of being in a house surrounded by rice fields with a verandah jutting out onto a pond full of ducks with the pitter-patter of rain on the tiles made the wait for lunch well worth it. Of course, then we heard all about the challenges of living in a mud house in the rains and realised that most things are less idyllic than they seem.

When we sat down for our meal the hosts proudly presented each course with produce grown by them. We went through the meal and learnt about the difficulties of de-husking dal by hand and what an art it is to master. Masoor dal with bits of the husk still on tasted divine. Just as we were commenting on the dal, our hostess asked if we knew what rice we were eating. Although now we are familiar with many types of rice, both hybrid and indigenous, the present fare did not seem familiar.

It is a type called "Dhulu". "Are you growing it," I asked. "No, we couldn't," she said her voice full of regret. "We had already sown four varieties and couldn't do any more this year. But we have given it to a neighbour. He will grow it and we can get the seeds. So don't worry; it will not get lost," she assured me.

As we drove back from their place, I realised that used as we were to repeat purchases of our favourite brands from well-stocked shops, we were just learning to desire things which mere money can't buy.