As I write this, I’m reeling from the effects of too much meat and all the niceties that come along with the Christmas holiday. As a priceless gift from God, I possess one of the best digestive systems in this part of the continent, so these festivities pass on quite well and without major glitches. [Back to the story; that diversion is defamation-friendly].

I’m typing this sitting under our traditional shade, during this time of the year and day when we know neither what day it is nor what we should be doing. We don’t even know what we should be writing on a blog at such a time. So any sins we may  commit during this time are automatically forgiven.

Today happened to be one of those mornings when we were having another light moment. We talked about this and once we were done with it, we moved on to that.

My mother picked a line of conversation and I knew she had something serious, some form of a bombshell she needs to unwrap from her heart. You know she has such a weight when she stops what she was doing, stand like a curved line, lift her neck up and tilt her face slightly towards the horizon as she opens her mouth to speak, quite ready to silence any other sound that may be filling the space at that time.

Then she tells us of this scary incidence that happened in the village recently. She was shocked by it all and at the end of her narration, she had managed to transfer the shock she had to me, but now in the form of a terrible nightmare. I’ve not recovered yet, and probably I hope that by talking, I will manage to deal with it.

After a season of potato harvesting, there is this farmer who separated what potato could be sold (the finest and largest), what could be eaten (the ones which were cut in the harvesting process), which ones would be ploughed back (mid-sized and healthy ones) and which ones needed to be thrown away or fed to the cows (the smallest and hopeless ones). Isn’t it funny that even if the farmer is the one who does all the farm work of tendering the growing plants, he always eats the lowest quality of the produce as he sells the best? May be we need money more than we need to reward our efforts.

On the last category of potatoes, those hopeless ones, she was getting ready to give them to the cows when some strange people came forward and requested to buy them. Buy them! At the price of healthy ones! She wondered whether they meant what they said and they clarified as much. Sell to them those worthless pieces of potatoes.

She did, and they did buy. They requested to put them in a place and come for them in a few days. But before they left, they sprayed them with a spray they had come with and then covered them. Four days later, they came back for them and on uncovering the spot where they were, the farmer was shocked: she saw the largest potatoes she had ever seen! The biggest any farmer could ever pray for!

Courtesy of a strange spray from strange people, potatoes lost their smallness and acquired an incredible size and a great amount of health and beauty. She casts a glance at the men, then a glance at the potatoes. Men. Potatoes. Both looked strange. She doesn’t know these potatoes any more. She wants her small potatoes back. She feels alienated from these large round balls. These men are wearing a smile. They have succeeded yet again. Then I guess they pick their potatoes and disappear to the market, to sell them to me and you. They are sure of one thing: we’ll be glad to buy them. We love healthy and large potatoes. And they know this. And they give us just that!

Now we are here, picking our bags and rushing to the market, to look for large potatoes. And we insist that they must be looking nice and be spotless. And we never fail to get them.

We no longer know what we eat. We continually take small doses of strange chemicals sprayed to innocent potatoes by strange greedy men whose only goal in life is to maximize their profits and minimize our lifetimes.

Guide us oh, Thou Great Jehovah!