Thanks to the COM352 students for contributing a bunch of new pages! I'll be moving these pages into the main area of the wiki soon.

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If You Are What You Eat, Then You Must Be Full of Something
Alastair Cowieson

“If you are what you eat, then what am I” is a story about dealing with cultural differences. We learn that the author, Geeta Kothari, is a woman of Indian descent who is brought up in America in a traditionally Indian home. Her parents cause the cultural differences unintentionally. They were both born and raised in India and have moved to America to raise their two children. Problems arise while Kothari’s parents try to help their daughters understand a culture none of them know much about. Kothari explains how as a child she was cast out by her peers and believed her parents were at fault. The parents’ failing was their lack of knowledge of American customs and therefore their inability to teach their children of how those residing in America should act. The bulk of the story deals with the frustrations this causes between Kothari and her parents and her learning how to “fit in" with her American peers herself. At the end of the story, she has a revelation, discovering that although all she wanted in her childhood was to be like the American girls, now that her parents are gone she wished she had spent more time listening to them. THIS STORY IS COMPLETE HORSE SHIT.

I say this because in my mind her story does not add up. I have lived through a situation similar to hers, in fact I have done it six different times now and believe me what Kothari is trying to sell you is something you do not want. Her life story is filled with plot holes and unrealistic situations that anyone with knowledge of what she is talking about will read and do what happens when you drink something really sour: when you pull back your head, scrunch in your face, and mouth something under your breath. I have lived a rather complex life and as can be expected I have been asked to write and talk about it a great many times. People usually ask me to tell stories of crazy things that have happened to me in my travels. I tell them I was stabbed once and they seem satisfied. I relate this to you because every time I tell that story either the knife or the guy that used it gets bigger. This is what Kothari’s story feels like to me, a hugely exaggerated version of the actual tale. I am sure others can attest to this tendency too, when people talk or write about something it usually is not entirely true. That’s fine, but this story seems so untrue that I just cannot let it slide.

Let’s start with Kothari’s talk about her diet. Kothari says that she has been brought up on an Indian diet that is lacking in “food my parents find repugnant because they contain pork and meat byproducts” (p.21). This is probably true. She then discusses her desperation to try certain foods that are frowned upon by her culture, sneaking meals here and there to try things. “The first time my mother and I open a can of tuna, I am nine years old.” (p.21) This is where I got my first face scrunch. I was an avid vegetarian for five years and have found myself in a situation like hers, craving and wondering about some strange thing’s taste. I had a slight advantage, having been a dedicated carnivore for all the years prior to my vegetarian adventure; I did have memory. Having been in her shoes I know that you cannot just pick at certain things such as meat every so often just for a taste, it is just not possible.

The reason is because your body learns how to process foods through experience. This learning process takes several years in fact, why do you think people don’t feed their babies flank steak and fillet mignon? If you have never eaten meat your body struggles to digest it; if you stop eating meat, after awhile your body begins to stop being able to digest it easily. This is such a serious problem that there are actually detoxification programs designed for people who are beginning to eat meat again: mere chicken broth is enough to make some people sick. When you only eat meat, no matter how little, on a whim, your body either rejects it or puts you through a lot of pain. Someone who has never eaten red meat or any meat product, especially meat by-products, will be in for a serious lesson the first time they treat themselves to it. So much so that it would probably convince you not to eat it, if you did not know why you were getting sick. I gave up being a vegetarian about nine months ago and my body still rejects meat on a regular basis. For Kothari to write so casually about eating certain meats once and awhile is simply hard for me to believe.

The next part of her story that threw me a little was her time in London, England. As I child I spent three years outside London and the next four years living about two hundred miles away in Glasgow, Scotland. London is a haven for people of Indian descent, some of the most amazing curries I have ever consumed were prepared in authentic restaurants there. London is also one of the most cultured and ethnically diverse places that I have ever been. In fact, Indians living in Britain are in their third-generation. There are more Indians living in Britain than in all of the United States of America. For Kothari to talk about how much she was ostracized because of her race goes against everything I know. I am sure she was poked fun at, but who wasn’t in school? It just feels like she is making something sound uncommonly bad to get some sympathy. Kothari’s last complaint about London was how much she disliked Spam. Britain does have Spam from the Lend-Lease Act enacted during the war, although the only place I have known where it is served are chip shops were it is fried. Fried Spam is an unpopular item. I really cannot see a school of picky children that produces awful meals importing a product from America for the purpose of making the food even worse. It just does not make sense to me.

Lastly, the point she makes about her husband seems unrealistic. She more or less just bashes on him for two pages. She feels he is an outsider and disagrees with the life he lives. Kothari sounds as if she is accusing him of cheating when she tells us how he sneaks off to devour meals that she refuses to cook, “sniffing him for signs of alimentary infidelity” (p. 28). No man is this much of a pushover. Nobody lets “the one person that loves you” talk in such an insulting manner. Kothari must have known some of this before they got married. If this story were truthful, then instead of talking about her husband she would be talking about her ex-husband.

As I had said before, people exaggerate, this is usually what separates a good story from a great one. But you must be clever. You cannot leave a trail of white lies that are so obvious that someone will follow them to the knowledge that your story is made up. To me, Kothari’s story is a tale told by a baby brother or sister about something incredible that happened to them: you pay attention, but in your mind you know it is not all true. All in all, Kothari’s piece sounds (to me) made up. It seems like she had to write something for a class and wanted to make it as powerful as possible, so she kept adding parts until her story was compelling and captivating. For me though, IT’S ALL JUST HORSE SHIT.