The Last Sip of Buttermilk

Words by Tara Vala

On my last day in India, my Nani fed me with her hands. A torn piece of roti held between her fingers. It didn’t feel like regression. It felt like something older than hunger – something instinctive, something safe. I don’t remember the taste, only the warmth of her skin, the quiet between us, the way the moment held me. Eating felt like being taken care of. 

In every offering, every ‘have more,’ every plate that never stayed empty, you gave me that. The script around eating – rules spoken and unspoken – didn’t seem to exist here. Food was given generously, insistently. When I said, ‘It’s okay, I’ve had two already,’ you told me to stop counting. To take. To eat. To enjoy. You told me, ‘Don’t be shy at the table.’ And something about that made me feel warm. As if eating wasn’t just about food, but about presence – about allowing myself to take up space. 

You showed me how to eat with my hands, not just with habit, but with intention. Not just tearing naan or picking up rice, but motions of pressing and scooping – bringing each bite to my mouth. I had always seen it, always known it. But I had never fully let myself do it. Sitting across from you, watching the way you ate, I realised how much I had resisted. How often I had wiped my hands between every bite. But eating with my hands slowed me down. Made me pay attention – to textures, to the way flavours unfolded. It reminded me of the way that food is meant to be felt. 

I was enjoying more, too. More laughter at crowded tables, more late-night chai. And here, in this home, at these tables, I was learning to welcome pleasure. 

At the end of every meal, I was passed a cup of buttermilk – thick, cooling, sometimes cut with lemon and turmeric. It was meant to help with digestion, to settle the body, to make room for more. It closed the meal like a ritual. A (small) final act of care. 

This is what you gave me.

Food as something to embrace. Eating as something without hesitation. The last sip of buttermilk a reminder of warmth, of abundance, of saying yes.